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THE 









A NOVEL OF THE NEW GERMAN 

EMPIRE. 


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Copyright, 1890, 

By ROBERT BONNER'S SONS. 


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CHAPTER I. 

XANTIPPE. 

Doctor Steelyard was sitting in his study laughing 
aloud. He passed his hand over his bald pate with a 
gesture of comfort, as if he meant to wipe all the folly 
of the world from the home of his thoughts, caressed his 
long gray beard, blinked with his small eyes, in which 
there shone a perfect flood of humor at the passing 
clouds on high, and laughed heartily and steadily. 

The door opened and a lady entered, who looked in 
surprise at the laughing man. She was as beautiful as 
the great scholar was ugly, and his ash-colored coat and 
his whole costume was as old-fashioned, neglected and 
worn, as her toilet was modern, carefully selected, and 
brilliant in its newness. 

After having looked at him awhile steadily, without in 
the least attracting his attention,* her expression changed 
from wonder to that of patient indulgence with the well- 
known oddities of a being differently made from herself, 
she went up to him, kissed him on his magnificent dome- 
like brow, and said : 


10 


XANTIPPE. 


“Well, my little old man, what are you laughing at 
quite alone here ?” 

Doctor Steelyard had, in the meantime, resumed his 
serious air, and nodded kindly, but made no answer. 

The lady drew one of the very plain cane chairs with 
which the simple room was furnished, close to the equally 
plain, uncushioned chair of the great scholar, placed her 
white, well-kept hand on his'shoulder, and repeated her 
question in a caressing tone. 

“ Ah,” he said, “ I was thinking of something.” 

“Thinking of something? Will you not tell me what 
that was ?” 

He answered with a low growl, which evidently meant 
that he wished to be left alone. 

“Tell me,” she repeated once more, “ what it was, so 
that I can laugh with you. I cannot understand how a 
sensible man can laugh by himself.” 

The scholar grunted once more. 

“ I am not opposed to merriment,” she said, turning 
very red, “ and I also understand witty sayings, although 
you seem to doubt that. I even think I laugh more than 
you do. But how one can laugh, being alone, that is 
more than I can comprehend.” 

“ There, you see, we laugh at different things !” 

“You mean,” she replied quickly, “ you at immensely 
deep things — I at frivolous matter.” 

“Well, well!” 

Oh ! If you will not tell me, then I know. You 
laughed at me !” 

“ Pshaw !” 

“ I know this laugh of yours. It is insulting. But at 
least I demand to be told what it is.” 

“My dear child,” said the learned man, rising and 
seizing his hat, “ the weather is exceptionally fine to-day, 


XANTIPPB, 


11 


and I think I’ll take a little walk, to enjoy spring and the 
new green.” 

The blush on the passionate lady’s cheeks gave sud- 
denly way to an appalling pallor. She tried to suppress 
her excitement, and said, after a pause, in a quiet voice : 

“ Please, don’t go away, Ephraim — I cannot bear 
that !” And as he turned round in the door she added : 
“ I do not wish to be the wife who is so quarrelsome that 
she drives her husband from his own house.” 

He passed his huge bony hand softly over her luxu- 
riant golden-brown hair, and said : “As a reward, dear 
Clara, and to reassure you, I will answer your question. 
Do you see this little book ?” 

“And did that make you laugh so ?” 

“ This little book was written by my enemy on ‘ Kant’s 
Critique of Pure Reason,’ and made me laugh because 
it showed so very clearly how closely our athletic men 
are packed into the human skin. He has explained all 
the great philosophers, Descartes, Bacon, even Plato 
himself. I think he wants to put them all into uniform ; 
coat, trousers and waistcoat he makes for them out of his 
metaphysics ; then he rolls them out flat upon a board 
and offers them nicely to the great public. That is what 
makes me laugh.” 

“ If I could only see what you mean ! You always 
speak in riddles and as if every school-boy knew his Plato 
as well as his catechism. You laugh at all the great men 
of the world, but I am yet to see that Magnum Opus , as 
you call it, that is to make you rich and famous.” 

« You see, dear Clara,” said the old man, holding his 
penetrating eye firmly fixed upon her face, “ the sophists 
were the people in ancient Greece who had become 
rich and famous by their science. In the button-hole 
of their chiton they wore the Spartan Order of the 
Lion, the Fox Order of Athens, the Bull Order of Thebes 


12 


XANTIPPE. 


and the Golden Lamb of Arcadia. They were the Pro- 
fessors and Councillors, the Members of the Privy Coun- 
cil and Councillors of State, of Government, of Finances, 
of Foreign Affairs. Truth was nothing to them. But 
Socrates was a different man. His friend, Alcibiades, 
compared him to those earthenware figures of followers 
of Bacchus, made of rude clay by ignorant men and fit 
only for children’s toys. But some of these figures of 
clay were hollow, and when you broke them open you 
found inside a saintly priest or the image of a god. My 
friend Rabelais, also, whom you will not read, says that 
Socrates was outside so ugly that no woman would have 
given an onion peel for the whole man as he stood. He 
was so ill-made, so ridiculous in his manners, so simple 
in his actions, so boorish with women, and above all, so 
poor in money and property, no woman would look at 
him, no government intrust him with the lowest office. 
And yet this man, if you only knew howto open the out- 
side shell, showed within a superhuman intellect, mar- 
velous virtues, invincible courage, perfect content and 
sublime contempt of all that men run and hunt and strive 
for till the grave swallows them up. And you will not 
understand why I laugh !” 

The lady did not like the portraiture, and took no pains 
to dissemble. She did not understand the allusion to 
Socrates, and Rabelais she could not endure. She deeply 
regretted her husband’s plebeian taste. 

“All that is intended for me, I know,” she said, “but 
I should like to see this truth of which you talk so much. 
If it were good for anything, it would have done some- 
thing for you. Are all the great men of the world 
sophists, as you call them, who fill high places and enjoy 
large salaries ?” 

“ My beloved Clara,” replied the bald-headed husband, 
stroking his beard, “ perhaps you do not know yourself 


XANTIPPE. 


13 


how well you speak and how very grateful I ought to be 
to you for taking the trouble of calling me day by day 
back to my duty ; of performing, here in my humble 
study, all the solemn duties of the great public, and of 
representing alone, in your small, well-formed, seductive 
form, all that the Evil One showed the Saviour from the 
high mountain.” 

The fair lady was so angry that her whole body began 
to tremble. But so overpowering was the prestige of 
her husband, that she once more overcame the passion 
raging within her, and after a pause, said,*in an humble 
and caressing tone : 

“ You are so immensely clever that I can of course not 
dispute with you. But it distresses me to see a man like 
you, who is so much wiser and better than all the others 
whom I know, not appreciated as he ought to be. For 
you surely could do much more for your fellow-men if 
you were in a high position. An unknown scholar may 
teach the greatest and deepest truths — nobody hears 
him. But a man in a high place, even a popular writer, 
wields a great power. Men are weak ; they worship 
appearances !” 

“ Eve, my Eve!” he replied, smiling, “has a married 
life of twenty-six years not taught you yet that I do not 
eat your apples ?” 

“ Do not say bitter things. I have always been a faith- 
ful helpmate to you, and my small, worldly wisdom, as 
you call it, has helped you and your children a little, 
I hope.” 

“ How could I deny that?” he said kindly, passing his 
hand again tenderly over her hair. 

“You took me when I was as poor as a church mouse, 
and you never thought in your generous mood how this 
might hamper you. I am almost afraid you would not 
have married me at all, if I had not seemed to be a per- 


14 


XANTIPPE. 


son worthy of deepest compassion. You seemed actually 
to be disappointed when a few years later a distant rela- 
tive left me a small fortune and we were thus enabled to 
live a little more comfortably. You retained the old 
simplicity, as if we were still as poor as ever. You ought 
at least to be glad that we can secure to our children a 
safe and comfortable future !” 

“ Whether the life of a man was better or worse — that 
we see when he dies.” 

“ You must at all events be glad,” she continued, 
angrily, “ that our Alfonse has entered a distinguished 
career, but you cannot expect your sons to be as wise as 
you are. You always blame Alfonse, but I am glad that 
he is full of life and energy. A good officer and an hon- 
orable man — what more do you want of him ?” 

The great man slowly shook his head. 

“ Alfonse is like a swaying reed,” he said, “ and 
exposed to many temptations.” 

“ Alfonse has a kind heart.” 

“A good heart ! Yes, I like also a good mind.” 

“ Alfonse has a very good head.” 

“ That is your opinion. But I find that he lacks char- 
acter. I look to his principles.” 

“ Alfonse has excellent principles.” 

“ Granted — but every wind blows them away.” 

“ Then it is our fault. We have bred him ! And yet 
I think we have neglected nothing.” 

“ My dear Clara, parents would fare badly if they were 
responsible for their children in the way you represent it. 
Character is inborn to man. No education can produce, 
nor change that in man. A good-for-nothing remains 
through life good for nothing,. and a useful man is useful 
unto death.” 

“ Alfonse is a useful man,” his mother said with shin- 
ing eyes. He has the best a man can have ; he has 


XANTIPPE. 


15 


ambition, and I can proudly say that he has it from his 
mother.” 

The husband looked at her with a melancholy smile. 

“Oh, how I wish,” she continued, “that I could give 
you some, too ! You have everything to make a brilliant 
career. All who know you are charmed with your treas- 
ures of knowledge and they remain enthusiastic admirers 
in spite of your discouraging manners. How many 
great authors have urged you to write something, — a 
novel, — and promised you triumphant success ! And 
again in the service of the State ! Even although you 
will not accept office, if you would only consent they 
would make you a position such as would please you !” 

“ And how do you know that ?” 

“ You can rely upon it ! You have only to say so, and 
they have promised to make you Professor of National 
Economy. My brother Baldwin has told me so a dozen 
times.” 

The old man laughed. “ Do you not know the Chinese 
proverb : 

‘ Riches and honors are like a merry dream in the fifth 
watch of the night, 

Promotion of merit like a fleeting cloud, 

Take not a golden chain for the neck, 

Nor a lock of jewels to fetter your feet ! ’ ” 

“ Oh, never mind your wise Chinese writers ! Be sen- 
sible. Baldwin is the man to help us. He has much 
influence and wishes you well. I have often been dis- 
tressed when you treat him with such scorn, such repell- 
ing, icy coldness, while he has ever been most kind to 
you. I admire his good-nature, for he always speaks of 
you with esteem.” 

“ Have I ever desired his good wishes ?” 


16 


XANTIPPE. 


“ No, to be sure, nor have I, although — ” 

“Oh, speak it out. I know it is he who patronizes 
your pet, Alfonse. He, and perhaps another man, who 
has great power in high places. I never thought that 
your kinsmen would rise so high and shine so brilliantly. 
Why, they are members of the Imperial Diet, Presidents 
of great Boards of Revisions, money-princes and rulers 
at ‘ Change !’ ” 

“You ought not to complain. I think you might 
remember how difficult it was to make Alfonse an officer. 
Nor ought you to take it amiss if I say that your Jewish 
blood was not exactly profitable to him. You cannot 
think what chances this kinship with great men opens to 
our children.” 

“ What chances do you mean ?” 

“ Have I not begged you again and again to make 
common cause with Baldwin, so as to realize our hopes ? 
I think it is high time to make sure of him if we are not 
to lose everything. Uncle Liondell will be seventy in a 
few months, and he has the gout. If he dies and we are 
left out in the cold, it is your fault.” 

“ My dear Clara, those claims which you fancy we have 
on Uncle Liondell’s inheritance, are too vague to be con- 
sidered.” 

“ By no means ! You can swear to it in every court. 
Your father lent him ten thousand dollars and he prom- 
ised to return the sum with compound interest. Now, I 
am sure Uncle Liondell has increased those ten thousand 
to at least a hundred thousand. This sum he must leave 
us, or he shall find no rest in his grave !” 

“ You do not know what you are saying,” growled the 
husband. “ We do not know but old Liondell may have 
repaid your father long ago ! I tell you once for all, I 
do not want to hear another word of that idle story. I 
do not want any of that man’s money. It is the sweat of 



\ 


V 

V 

WELL, MY LITTLE OLD MAN, WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT V'—SCC Page 10 . 



18 


XANTIPPE. 


millions of poor creatures which he has changed into 
millions of gold, and Baldwin with his speculations on 
change and his philanthrophic phrases — I cannot digest. 
I cannot and will not join him in anything.” 

“ How can you be so proud ?” Clara cried with scornful 
laughter ; “ why do you sneer at men who have obtained 
what you will never reach in your life ? When your 
sister Rachel engaged herself to Baldwin he was on the 
lowest rung of the social ladder, and now — as you say — 
he is a member of the Imperial Diet and president of a 
Board of Revision, with orders and distinctions of all 
kinds, while you are still what you were then.” 

“ What a pessimist you are, Clara !” 

“ How can I help it, when I see you wasting your mag- 
nificent talents, your shrewd judgment, your precious time 
— all upon this ridiculous search after truth. Look at the 
Comets ! Your sister moves in the highest circles of 
the capital ; she has one of the most brilliant salons in 
the city ; she and her children have only to wish and it 
is theirs, while you sit like an owl in the darkest corner of 
the world. I do not despise them ; I confess I should 
also like to be great, and rich, and distinguished.” 

“But now it is high time to take my walk,” calmly 
said the old scholar. “Time flies, see how low the sun 
has sunk.” 

“ Are you going to make me mad, Ephraim ? This is 
your way ; first you excite me till I am boiling over, and 
then you leave me, and let me work it all out alone. Why 
don’t you answer me ? Why don’t you contradict me, if 
I am wrong? You can beat me — you can tread on me — 
only don’t go away — it makes me furious.” 

But the old man had already put his broad-brimmed 
straw hat on his bald skull, and when she rushed to the 
window, she saw 'the broad-shouldered, massive form, 
walk down the street with sounding steps. 


THE SENORITA MOLINI. 


19 


She seized a glass of water that stood near at hand, and 
poured the contents on his head. 

“ Answer me !” she screamed down. 

The old man shook himself, waved the wet hat, and 
murmuring, “My Clara is not in good humor to-day,” 
he slowly walked on. Several street boys, who had 
watched the .scene with intense delight, shouted a cry of 
triumph, and the passers-by looked on wondering. “ Soc- 
rates and Xantippe !” said laughingly a student to his 
friend. He had a gentle, sweet-hearted lady-love of his 
own, and felt high above poor married men. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE SENORITA MOLINI. 

Lieutenant Alfonse Steelyard, whose talents and tem- 
per appeared so different to father and mother, spent the 
same evening at the Alliance Club, where on that day the 
introduction of Miss (or perhaps Mrs.) Chessa de Molini, 
was to take place. He had desperately fallen in love 
with this Spanish lady, and made great pecuniary sacri- 
fices in order to gain admittance, for her sake, to this 
aristocratic and expensive club. Only people of the 
best society were admitted, and it was the ambition of 
his life, encouraged by his mother, to gain an entrance 
into these privileged circles. So far, however, he had 
only succeeded in knowing people who spent more 
money than he could ever hope to have, and in being 
given up by comrades who lived on a less extravagant 
scale. He felt at times as if he had fallen between two 
stools. 


20 


THE SENORITA MOLINI. 


His mother helped him as much as she could, behind 
her husband’s back, but money was scarce in the house, 
and yet he was already head over ears in debt and dared 
not tell her so. To approach his father with his troubles, 
never entered his mind ; he knew too well how the old 
gentleman despised all money matters and considered 
them unfit for sensible men. 

Alfonse was, moreover, dissatisfied with his profession. 
He had behaved well during the war and stood well in 
the ranks of the army ; but after all, he was only a Second 
Lieutenant and had an almost endless list of services 
before he could aspire to become a First Lieutenant, and 
what was to be the end of it ? Always to drill, to run on 
two legs through dust and mud, with no brilliant prospect 
for the future and a miserable pittance for the present. 
That was not what he desired ! He felt that he had 
talents, but he knew that in the ranks of the subalterns 
it was utterly indifferent whether he possessed talents or 
not. He knew that most of his comrades were inferior to 
him in education, but they advanced just as fast as he ; 
it was on the cards that he should be admitted into the 
War Academy, but that alone did not yet secure him the 
desired promotion to the staff. He thought with horror 
of the many sons of rich and great families who were his 
rivals. 

He did all he could do. He was conscientiously atten- 
tive to his duties, and neglected no opportunity to let his 
light shine, especially before his superiors. He visited 
at the houses of several renowned professors, and was 
well acquainted with some of the great artists of the day, 
so that he could always form his judgment on new books 
or new works of art. He went much into fashionable 
society, affected even a certain fondness of sport, which 
however, did not fit him well, and made himself, thus, 
a little model of perfection. But in his heart of hearts 


THE SENORITA MOLINI. 


21 


he felt that all this was of no use. His cousin, Amadeus, 
Baron Liondell, was a very different man, after all, and 
when he looked at him and thought how he eat and drank, 
where he lived, what high-bred horses he kept, and that 
he was going to marry a fair and rich countess, he felt 
savage. He repented not having become a banker like 
him, and remembered his mother’s story that the founda- 
tion of the enormous Liondell fortune rested upon a 
sum which his grandfather had loaned old Liondell, and 
which had never been repaid. 

As a matter of course, he never betrayed these views 
of his ; on the contrary he professed a certain contempt 
for all money-making pursuits, and loved to assume the 
part of a Cid Campeador or a Roland who cares for his 
horse only, and for his sword, and to be the slave of the 
lady of his love. 

A silent hope that all might yet turn out well, when 
old Liondell should repay the half of a million which he 
owed to the two families of Steelyard and Comet, always 
gave him new courage, when he met his mother. 

The public singer, Molini, to whom he for the time 
swore allegiance was as a star engaged at the opera and 
the whole city was full of her praise. The Military 
Attache at the American Legation had sworn that he, 
who had seen and heard all that was most admirable in 
two hemispheres, had never seen the like of this lady. 
The whole golden youth, of course, repeated the judg- 
ment — who would have dared to show that he was not as 
good a judge as this young lieutenant of a diminutive 
army ? It was the old story, that a bold-faced danseuse or 
a mighty athlete, a chess-playing automaton or a perhaps 
pseudo Chinese are more attended and more admired 
than the best and most faithful preacher of the Gospel. 

The senorita was to be formally introduced that night 
at the Alliance Club by a Baroness Blank. This arrange- 


22 


THE SENORITA MOLINI. 


ment caused much shrugging of shoulders, as that good 
lady had herself only a somewhat dubious standing in 
the club. It was, no doubt, a very good name she bore, 
but people whispered strange things about the family 
into each other’s ears. 

Baron and Baroness Blank belonged to the purely 
ornamental appendages of good society. No one knew 
how they lived. But they did live, and they moved in 
the most elegant circles. They were an unsolved riddle, 
and if there were people who knew them, they were either 
too good natured or too much interested to betray their 
secret. 

The Blanks did introduce the Spanish lady to the 
managing committee of the great club, and these again 
introduced such members as desired the privilege. The 
scene was brilliant and exceedingly picturesque. The 
artist was small and fully dark of skin, but the blood 
showed through the delicate skin, with blue-black hair and 
eyes. She wore a dress of yellow silk with deep red 
roses, and covered her shoulders — lightly — with some 
black lace declared to be of truly fabulous value. The 
married lady was tall and slender, towering by a whole 
head above the foreigner. She had the pale complexion 
that resembles ivory, only less white, more like a faded 
tea rose. Her eyes also were dark, but no one claimed 
to know the precise hue or color. Her expression was 
a strange blending of weariness and subdued passion, 
and her eyes had a somewhat uncanny glamour about 
them, which was almost painfully attractive. Her hair 
looked black, but when not seen en masse , but in braids 
or curls, it had a charming sheen of bronze. She was 
dressed altogether in black and only wore a few brilliant 
stones in her towering hair. 

Baron Blank walked behind the two ladies. He was 
a man of impenetrable countenance, bald head and 


THE SENORITA MOLINI. 


23 


enormous blonde beard. The appearance of the artist 
in whose honor the assembly had been arranged, pro- 
duced a certain sensation, and with Alfonse, who at once 
advanced to welcome her, a number of persons came and 
formed a circle around the new-comer. Others held a little 
aloof and exchanged opinions. Among these were two 
prominent members, Prince Lignac, and Baron Amadeus 
Liondell. 

The prince belonged to an old French family who had 
owned an independent sovereignty in a petty state of 
Germany, and showed in his whole appearance his descent 
from men who had been accustomed, in times of old, 
hand on sword, to spend their lives on horseback and in 
unceasing strife. He was tall, of great elegance, with a 
small, well-formed head and a high-born air. Unfor- 
tunately his blue eyes had an uncertain, melancholy 
expression, while the lips, covered with a small, very 
light moustache, betrayed a tendency to scorn, and there 
was wanting in the whole the stamp of thorough manli- 
ness. 

Baron Liondell, much younger than the prince, and 
hardly twenty-five years old, was small, and showed in 
his vivid, almost mercurial gestures, an overflowing full- 
ness of life in strange contrast with the passive manner 
of his companion. His black eyes sparkled like stars in 
the handsome face with the yellow complexion and the 
oriental features. 

“ Did you see, prince,” asked the latter, “ how she turned 
her head ? She is looking this way; she is looking at 
us !” 

“ I wonder what this Baroness Blank may cost ?” said 
the prince in reply. “ Do you know it, my dear baron ? 
You know the price of everything here, while I have 
become almost a stranger.” 

11 I think,” said Liondell; “you would learn that most 


24 


THE SENORITA MOLINI. 


easily from her husband !” and he laughed as if he had 
said something very witty. 

“ You are too bad, by Heaven !” exclaimed the prince. 
“ You are worse than I thought you were, and an abomina- 
ble wicked sinner, who in the course of time will ruin the 
whole virtuous city. But what do you say, will you buy 
that mare of mine ?” 

The baron was slightly embarrassed and showed it. 

“ I must first try her once more ; she is disposed to 
run away.” 

“ Pshaw !” said the prince, “ a baby can ride her with 
a thread of silk, and you shall have her for four hundred 
coins. But to come back to our mutton, — I rather like 
this Blank, and her husband’s head is shaped in the way 
I like best. He has a forehead that is evidently predes- 
tined to bear horns — a conformation which I have quite 
frequently noticed in this good city.” 

“You think you are still in Paris, prince,” replied the 
baron, who was going to be married in the course of the 
summer, “ but we are here in Berlin, where another stan- 
dard of morality is adopted.” 

“ Yes, yes !” said the prince, indisposed to pursue the 
subject. “ But, see ! is not that your cousin, dear baron, 
that handsome, black-eyed lieutenant there, with the 
senorita? It seems to me I have him at one of your 
father’s Lucullan dinners !” 

“ Cousin a la mode de Bretagne ,” replied the baron con- 
temptuously. “Lieutenant Steelyard, not noble !” 

The prince looked at him ironically, and then said in 
an affected, high tone, with half-closed eyes and in the 
slow, sharply-accented manner which he adopted in 
speaking when he was bent upon annoying some one, 
“ I read the other day in the German Peerage the history 
of your baronial family. I think the article was incom- 
plete.” 


THE SEN0RITA MOLINI. 


25 


“ How so ?” 

“ In the historical part the book only states that Simon 
Dahl, your honored father, was created a baron of the 
Empire, but it says nothing of the long and glorious 
family history which preceded this creation. Your 
ancestors were known centuries ago. The Dahls or 
Thais, if I am not mistaken, were of the tribe of Levi, 
and what is the story of a family like mine, that is only 
about six hundred years old, by the side of one which 
goes back to the days when the Red Sea went out of the 
way of its members? If I were in your place, I would 
send the editor a communication to that effect. Think 
of Lord Beaconsfield — how proud that great statesman 
ever was of his old and distinguished descent ! Yes, I must 
confess, if I had ancestors who had stood guard before the 
Ark, I should say, as my sainted cousin used to say, ‘ Roi 
ne puis , baron ne daigne , Dahl ge suis .’ ” 

The young baron did not like his friend’s speech in the 
least, and looked with burning cheeks at the toes of his 
boots. He knew there was no revenge against the prince. 
He had a way of saying the most extraordinary things, 
which no one could imitate, and he always had the laugh- 
ter on his side. A reply would have made matters only 
worse, and what use would it have been to quarrel with 
him, the most distinguished man in the club, who was, 
moreover, the best marksman on the pigeon-platform at 
Monte Carlo ? 

The baron was still hesitating what he should do, when 
fortunately a towering officer of cuirassiers approached 
them, whose familiar and cordial greeting gave the baron 
the desired opportunity to escape and to seek safety with 
the admired artist. 

The cuirassier matched the prince in height and 
breadth of shoulders, a superb picture of a steel-clad 
warrior. He was very dark-complexioned, with jet black 


26 


THE SENORITA MOLINI. 


hair, a bold eagle’s nose, and a tremendous moustache 
standing out stiff and straight. 

After the two men had exchanged cordial greetings and 
joyful inquiries after common friends, the officer asked : 
“ But what brings you here at this time, my dear 
prince ?” 

The prince hesitated a moment, sunk in deep thought 
and then said : “ My dear cousins, I will tell you that 

most candidly ; I mean to get married.” 

“Married!” repeated the new-comer raising his eye- 
brows “and with whom ?” 

“Ah ! you see that is more than I know. My plan is as 
yet quite general. I think it is time for me to do it, and 
I mean to do it, provided I can find a suitable match. 
She must, of course, be rich, beautiful and amiable. 
What do you say ? Do you advise me to do it ?” 

“Well,” was the answer, “if you are determined to do 
it, the lady would be easily found.” 

“ In fact, I should not like to do it, unless you advise 
me to do it. You have always been an excellent coun- 
sellor and I value your advice most highly.” 

“Very well, then,” said Victor, “you shall have my 
advice with pleasure.” 

“ But if you think I had better remain a bachelor and 
preserve my liberty as heretofore, I might do that. But 
how am I to continue my lineage and my possessions ?” 
asked the prince. “ Every man has a wish to have sons 
and daughters who give him joy, and to whom he can 
bequeath his possessions. Is the race of the Lignacs 
to die out with me ? Is my coat-of-arms to disappear 
from among men, my proud old name to be heard no 
more? the thought makes my heart stop beating.” 

“ That is true,” replied the other ; “ then marry !” 

“Your advice, dear Victor,” said the prince, “reminds 
me of songs which we call scies in France. The lines go 


THE SENORITA MOLINI. 


27 


up and down like a saw, and are intended to annoy and 
vex people. I find nothing but irony in your counsels, 
for you alternate regularly. Marry ! Marry not !” 

“The reason is,” replied the cousin calmly, “that you 
mention, one after the other, things which contain a good 
deal of truth, but which contradict each other. It 
seems to me you do not know yourself what you wish. 
But that is after all the main thing ; the rest Fate decides. 
But tell me, dear cousin, who is that young infantry 
lieutenant there ? His feet have, to my eyes, a cut that is 
not purely germanic : — his legs savor of the chosen 
people. Could you imagine that his ancestors ever 
mounted a horse ?” 

Alfonse Steelyard whom the two men were observing, 
was a handsome, nicedooking young man of very good 
manner and a military carriage, so that the sharp eye of 
an arch-aristocrat alone could detect the taint in his 
blood. Even then it was less the shape of his limbs than 
the gliding, sliding nature of his motions which marked 
him. He was deep in conversation with the senora, 
enjoying the advantage of speaking French very fluently 
and thus obtaining the precedence over many rivals. 

She did not know a word of German and spoke only 
French and Spanish. It was, therefore, no pleasure 
to him that just then the signal was given to go to 
supper, when Prince Lignac came up to carry off the fair 
lady, according to previous arrangement, while he him- 
self had to be content with a very modest place. From 
here he could only send burning glances to the artist 
whom he admired so much. He disliked especially to 
see her seated between the prince and his cousin, Baron 
Liondell, who as treasurer of the club had claimed this 
seat of honor. 

Alfonse did not like the prince, who was too grand for 
him, and seemed to be especially haughty towards him ; 


28 


THE SENORITA MOLINI. 


besides, he was jealous of him, knowing very well what 
daring and what unscrupulous cunning he could develop 
in his intercourse with the fair sex. With Baron Liondell 
he maintained a cool politeness ; for although they were 
cousins the immense wealth of the Liondells, and the 
desire to mingle only with the highest in the land, had 
erected a barrier between the two families. Alfonse and 
his mother resented this bitterly, because both branches 
aimed at the same end, which the Liondells had reached, 
while they saw no way of achieving as much. 

While Alfonse watched the fair foreigner from afar, 
he tried to console himself by conversing with his neigh- 
bor, an interpreter of the Turkish legation, who gave 
interesting accounts of the Court of the Padishah. 
Prince Lignac in the meantime made good use of his 
opportunity with the Spanish singer. He was perfectly 
at home with ladies of the theatre, knew what interested 
them so that he never was at a loSS in conversing, 
although he saw his new acquaintance to-night for the 
first time. Among the defects of the prince, moreover, 
bashfulness had never been mentioned, and as he knew 
himself to be fashionable and entertaining, he made little 
ceremony in trying to win the lady’s favor. 

But although the prince knew the little people of the 
stage, and no longer fancied that theatrical prime donne 
were etherial beings, whose food was Art, nightingales in 
the shape of women, with no other aim in life than to 
please men by the sweet sounds of their throats, he was 
still surprised by the cold, calculating mind of the Molini. 
He looked with astonishment at this bright-colored girl, 
full of life and spirit, and endowed \yith an angelic voice, 
who, in her bosom, hid the soul of a commercial agent. 
Whatever subject of conversation he could touch, this 
enchanting daughter of the south would return to 
money. The various peculiarities of the music of Italy 


THE SENORITA MOLINI. 


29 


or France, the objections to Wagner’s operas, the lavish 
generosity of English audiences — all led back to the one 
question, how does it pay ? 

The prince took a strange pleasure in this novel con- 
versation with a lady. His sarcastic vein was pleasantly 
tickled by meeting with such startling contrasts in 
human nature, and he knew with exquisite cunning how 
to make his new friend feel so perfectly safe in his hands 
that she spoke out with perfect candor and showed herself 
such as she was. The one advantage he himself had, 
was the conviction that it would never do to fall in love 
with this siren. That, he told himself, would be as fear- 
ful as the fate of Midas, when, in the hands of the ever- 
hftngry old man, everything turned to gold. 

While he was thinking of this lesson, and the whole 
assembly was animated most pleasantly, an incident 
occurred which produced a startling sensation. 

The artist availed herself of the moment when the 
excitement seemed to be at its highest, when her flash- 
ing eyes and the silvery notes of her voice, accompanied 
by loud though melodious laughter, had attracted the 
attention of the company to her person, to commit an 
act of strange coauettishness. With a quick, but grace- 
ful gesture she suddenly drew the black lace fichu from 
hershoulders and appeared in her low-cut evening dress. 
This was all the more striking as no other lady in the 
house was decolletee , but it displayed with marvellous 
effect the surpassing beauty of the Spaniard. Around 
her neck, superbly balanced on her body, she wore a 
gold necklace consisting of quaintly-cut red corals, with 
huge gold balls between the branches. This act attracted 
universal attention. The gentlemen declared, with one 
voice, her beauty to be unequalled in Europe, and the 
ladies looked at each other with the silent conviction that 
this strange, theatrical conduct, surpassed in insolence all 


30 


THE 8ENORITA MOLINI. 


that native artists had ever ventured to do. All eyes 
however, were directed at the beautiful neck and its 
remarkable ornament. 

“ An extraordinary piece of jewelry,” said the prince, 
looking curiously at the chain ; “ if I am not mistaken, of 
oriental workmanship ! I see some amulets there 
belonging to the Islam, a hand against the Evil Eye.” 

He was interrupted by a loud outcry of the artist, and 
noticed, looking up, how she stared with horror at a gen- 
tleman who, as if he had risen out of the ground, stood 
suddenly before her, and pointed, with a furious gesture, 
at thg. same ornament. 

It was the interpreter of the Turkish legation. His 
eyes were wide open, glaring and full of fierce fire ; his 
whole person showed every muscle strained to the 
utmost, his face turned nearly white, his hands as in 
spasms, firmly closed, and his whole appearance that of 
a tiger at the moment when he is about to leap on its 
victim. Voltaire says that men of the south have, instead 
of blood, liquid metal flowing in their veins, and in this 
man, born near the Equator, this seemed really to be the 
case, and all awaited the explosion with horror. 

At first a torrent of unknown, unintelligible words 
poured forth from his pale lips ; then, as he saw that he 
was not understood by any one, he began to speak 
Spanish, and this the artist evidently understood, to 
judge from her gestures. Anxiously seizing the neck- 
lace, she shook her head, and drew the lace so as to hide 
her shoulders and the ornament. But the enraged man 
clutched at her neck and seized the chain. It looked as 
if he were about to strangle the fair singer. She cried 
aloud, and it was only by the combined efforts of the 
prince and Lieutenant Steelyard, who had quickly run 
up, that the stranger could be forced to let her go. 

When he saw himself thus held by the two gentlemen, 


THE SEN0RITA MOLINI. 


31 


and noticed the general indignation with which his con- 
duct was regarded, he again poured forth long explana- 
tions and curses, but this time in French, so that all 
could hear what he was saying. He maintained that the 
necklace was his, an old heirloom in the princely family 
of which he was a member, and taken from him in the 
most disgraceful manner. At the same time he tore 
open his shirt bosom, and amid fearful curses he showed 
there the two letters B. L. which were burnt into his 

skin. At this sight the artist uttered so fearful a cry 

that a physician was instantly summoned. After she 
had been removed into an adjoining room, there was 

universal confusion and consternation. No one could 

explain what had really happened, but all had their 
guesses and their suggestions to make. One presumed 
that a long time ago the Arab and the Spaniard had 
loved one another, till she had abandoned him, taking 
the talisman with her, which had now led to recognition. 
Others maintained that the artist was an escaped slave 
from the seraglio of the Grand Vizier, who by her flight 
had compromised the Arab and led to his being branded 
in punishment. A third coolly suggested that the inter- 
preter had suddenly become insane. The prince alone 
wondered if the strange, gold-thirsty song-bird might not 
simply have stolen the chain. 

In the meantime no one knew what to do with the 
interpreter, who seemed still to be beside himself, and 
could only be kept by force from following the Spanish 
lady. Efforts were made to quiet him, but he was in 
such a state of excitement that nothing had any effect. 
He exclaimed repeatedly that only blood could satisfy 
his just wrath, and the club-men at last sent for the police 
and had him put in a place of safety. As a member of a 
foreign legation he was first sent to the palace of the 
Russian minister, in whose presence and with whose con- 


32 


THE MEMBER OF THE DIET. 


sent he was to be examined. Baron Liondell, upon 
whom the sight of the letters B. L. seemed to have made 
a deep impression, followed the police. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE MEMBER OF THE DIET. 

“Why, what a surprise !” said Doctor Steelyard, rising 
from his work. “ Our honored brother Baldwin !” 

He led his visitor to the sofa and continued : 

“ Well ! Does the wheel of the State stand still that 
you are at leisure to seek me out in my solitude and at 
this hour ?” 

“ Is it really such a very extraordinary event, my dear 
brother, to visit here ?” the other asked in return. “ I 
fancy we see you more rarely at our house than I appear 
here.” 

“ And yet I would wager that there must be some very 
special reason for this visit to-day. The parties are 
fighting hard in the Diet. What becomes of your fol- 
lowers, when one of the most eloquent leaders is ab- 
sent ?” 

Doctor Comet looked rather absent-minded, and did 
not reply at once. He had the appearance of a man 
who is so occupied with weighty matters of business, 
that even among friends the process of thawing is a slow 
one, and with poor relations very marked, for he 
wishes them to know and to feel that he is placed so 
high in the world that it requires a certain time and 
labor to come down to a level with their insignifi- 
cance. 


THE MEMBER OF THE DIET. 


33 


He was a man of imposing presence, and carried him- 
self exceedingly well. Dignity was enthroned on his 
brow, and benevolence and affability played around his 
mouth. He was dressed with elegance, but soberly, — all 
in all he was a man who, as everybody felt, was called to 
be a leader of men. 

“ Indeed,” he said with a little sigh, “ I have not much 
time of my own, and but rarely am able to enjoy, as 
others do, the pleasures of private life. Our political 
relations are very complicated and require to be treated 
with great delicacy and circumspection. Whenever an 
important step is to be taken, the members of our party 
at once turn to me, for they have reached the convic- 
tion that they have in me the best judge and the ablest 
negotiator, although I know very well myself that they 
have far too high an opinion of my little ability. Then 
I have the supervision over that large and philanthropic 
establishment, the Patriotic Bank of Commerce, and 
others like it, which takes much time and hard work. I 
can but rarely indulge in pleasures which to men of 
more modest positions, appear almost necessities of 
life.” 

“ Yes, my dear Baldwin,” said the learned brother, “ it 
is no trifle to be a great politician,^ diplomat and a states- 
man all in one. You have not only the talent to acquire 
a large fortune, while you further the welfare of the 
country by your financial operations, but you have also 
that eminent ability in matters of State which he re- 
quires who wants not to be under-valued but to make 
himself a great name. I admire that, indeed. But of 
course, the work is hard.” 

The deputy cast a look of mistrust at his brother-in- 
law. The latter, however, remained very quiet, and con- 
tinued : “ How is it that those great heroes which we 

are at school already taught to admire as law-givers and 


34 


THE MEMBER OF THE DIET. 


eminent statesman, not alone the ancients as Aristides, 
Lycurgus, Solon, and so on, but also the more recent pa- 
triots, as Franklin and Washington, or our own country- 
man Stein — how is it that these men had no talent to 
make fortunes, but on the contrary suffered the greatest 
calamities ? How is it that they disregarded all these 
drawbacks, and even gave of their own to serve the com- 
mon weal ?” 

“ Past times, my good brother-in-law,” said the states- 
man, “ are not to be compared with our times. That sim- 
plicity of life survives now only in memory, and our cul- 
ture is as superior to those primitive forms of which you 
speak, as our ideas are different from those entertained 
at Athens or Rome.” 

“You surprise me, still, I see at least that our day is 
superior to those ancient times in this point, that now it 
is possible for the great statesman at the same time to 
make the State great and himself rich. I see that in you 
and your friends. You promulgate the wisest laws and 
the best, and in an abundance formerly entirely un- 
known. And yet you find means to provide abundantly 
for your old age i” 

“Yes, you are right. It is a pleasant consciousness to 
feel that I can, by means of the considerable fortune 
which I have acquired by hard work, provide for my 
children and children’s children, and at the same time 
prove useful to relatives and friends.” 

“You see now that I was not so very far from right 
when I compared you to Solon ^jid Aristides — Solon was 
after all one of the Seven Wise Men, and Aristides bore 
the name of the Just !” 

“ I wish, my dear brother, you would let us forget your 
Greek friends, and come down for a moment to a more 
practical standpoint. The matter is this. For some time 
I have been very violently attacked in the public papers 


THE MEMBER OF THE DIET. 


35 


and elsewhere. You know I gave up my former position 
in the service of the State in order to devote myself 
wholly to the well-being of the State. As my means 
were very small, and life in Berlin is very dear, I was 
compelled to eke out my little income. Under these cir- 
cumstances they offered me the place of President of the 
Board of Supervision over the Patriotic Bank of Com- 
merce, and I accepted it in order to be able to live here 
and to give myself up entirely to politics. This was an 
act of personal sacrifice, and yet now I am attacked, and 
people say, unabashed, that I use my political influence 
to secure advantages to the Bank which I control !” 

“ Is it possible?” cried the bald-headed man. 

“ Oh, they did more than that ! Soon afterwards, you 
know, the universal confidence which I enjoy made me 
head of the Great Consolidation State Funds, and I have 
ever since done my best to invest these moneys in the 
best and safest manner, and yet at the highest possible 
rates of interest. Now, however, in consequence of cer- 
tain disastrous events that could not be foreseen, several 
investments have turned out badly, causing a loss of sev- 
eral millions to this Fund. Now, mischief would have it 
that this loss fell almost altogether upon such values as 
were connected with the Patriotic Bank of Commerce. 
The shameless press thereupon comes forward, and my 
adversaries attack me as if I had propped up my private 
bank with the money of the State and enriched myself 
in so doing !” 

“ That is a cruel charge,” said Steelyard. 

“ Is it not ? A grievous, an infamous charge ! I need not 
tell you, of course, that I am innocent. I have laid by a 
certain sum of money, but by no means as much as they 
state. I was assured, when I took hold of the bank, an 
income of about ten thousand dollars. This income, 
thanks to a few lucky speculations, it is true, turned out 


36 


THE MEMBER OF THE DIET. 


to be about ten times as much, thanks to my skillful man- 
agement. I could lay a little aside. The workman is 
worthy his hire. But to say what my enemies say is a 
wretched tissue of abominable lies.” 

“Then you will, of course, easily refute your adversa- 
ries.” 

“ That is the question. You know that of a bold cal- 
umny something always remains. But to convince 
you — ” 

“ Pardon me, honored brother-in-law, but would you 
oblige me by telling me first what can possibly induce 
you, the Member of the Diet and great statesman that 
you are, to entrust these secrets to me, the old owl that 
sees and knows nothing of what is going on ?” 

“In the first place you know how highly I value your 
personal opinion,” said the statesman, courteously ; “but 
permit me to complete my appeal to you. The enmity 
against me, you must know, contemplates not only my 
fate but the destruction of all that exists — ” 

“ I can understand that if they dare attack you , they 
can aim at nothing less.” 

‘They propose a perfect revolution, the annihilation of 
the system by which Germany has become great, and to 
which alone it is due that her citizens lead in the culture 
of the world, not as the French boastfully claim, but in 
sober morality and under the banner of true liberty.” 

“Awful!” 

“ Dear Ephraim, it is — in one word be it said — the 
reaction which once more raises its Hydra-head and 
now hides behind an abominable mask. They reproach 
our party in the open Diet, that we dance around the 
golden calf!” 

“ Dance around the golden calf,” repeated Doctor 
Steelyard, thoughtfully. “That is a most interesting 
phenomenon, and I am half inclined to think that your 


THE MEMBER OF THE DIET. 


37 


party ougnt to consider it an honor rather than a reproach. 
It seems to me that the erection of the young bull, as 
also the frequent restoration of the worship of Baal, was 
only a reminiscence of the Egyptian sun-worship, which 
speaks highly to Aaron’s praise. Solomon adorned the 
gable of the temple at Jerusalem with an image of the 
heavenly bull, Jeroboam set up the same image at Dan 
and at Bethel as guardians of the kingdom, and made the 
Ten Tribes worship it. I might — ” 

“ I pray you, Ephraim, let us settle this first ! Para- 
doxes we have enough. Does not. somebody say King 
Solomon must have loved the daughters of Moab, because 
he could never have indited his wonderful song if he had 
only had sorry Jewesses before his eyes. Not very com- 
plimentary for my wife, who is, after all, your sister. I 
do not understand how you, an Israelite by birth, can 
take this so calmly. No, this is a matter that concerns 
us both, for my enemies make use of my connection 
with the great house of Liondell to call out into the 
wide world that I and my party have abused our 
privileges of making laws, for the benefit of our race and 
of ’Change !” 

“I do not see how that can touch me, Baldwin. I am 
so insignificant that nobody has yet thought of attacking 
me, and the man who should speak of my fortune as 
made by speculation on ’Change, would certainly be 
laughed to scorn.”' 

“I should not have thought you such an egotist, 
Ephraim ; but at least listen to my request. You are 
thoroughly at home in all that concerns the finances of 
the State, and you write in the most convincing man- 
ner. What I want to ask you is this : would you under- 
take in a pamphlet to state and explain the methods 
according to which I and my friends have managed the 
funds of the State, so as to show that it has always been 


38 


THE MEMBER OF THE DIET. 


done in the most conscientious, and at the same time, 
most profitable manner?” 

“ But you surely have many pens that would do this 
much better than I can.” 

“You can do it better than any one else, believe me.” 

“That is certainly not so, dear brother-in-law. For 
you see I am an old.-fashioned man who can write 
only what is my sincere conviction. But many of the 
literati who belong to you are trained to write as it 
suits your purpose, and that seems to me necessary in 
this case.” 

The old scholar looked down. 

“ Come, Ephraim, I will give you ten thousand dollars 
if you will write me a good, powerful, crushing reply to 
the attacks of my enemies.” 

“ Ten thousand dollars ! That is a good deal of money,” 
said the old man, shaking his bald head. “ If I only 
knew what to do with the money ! I cannot invest it in 
fine wines, because I do not drink wine. With cigars it 
is the same. If I were to begin eating game-pie and 
caviare, I should ruin my stomach in my old days. To 
keep a mistress? No, for Clara’s sake I should not like 
to do that, now, you see. What in all the world could I 
do with ten thousand dollars ?” 

“ Oh,” said the statesman impatiently, “ leave them to 
your children.” 

“ That is true. If I only thought they would bring my 
children a blessing ! Could I leave them unjust money, 
do you think ?” 

“ Unjust money !” cried the other. “ What words you 
use ! If you were not a man of mature years, I should 
remind you of Schiller’s verse : ‘ Quickly youth is ready 
with words, which cut like the blades of a knife ! ’ ” 

For a whole hour the two clever men fought a duel 
with words, never hoping to convince, but actually enjoy- 


THE OLD SERPENT. 


39 


ing the clashing of words as duellists love to hear the 
clanking of swords. At last the great statesman’s patience 
was utterly exhausted by Ephraim’s persistent though 
ever courteous refusal to comply with his wishes. During 
the conversation a pale young man had come in, and 
respecting the eagerness of the two disputants, had 
quietly sat down and listened. 

Now when Baldwin strode out in all the majesty of 
loftiest indignation, Doctor Steelyard said laughingly to 
the pale youth : 

“ There he goes ; Uncle Comet, after having emptied 
his whole quiver full of arrows, fleeing like* the 
Parthians.” 

“ He need not have fled,” said the young man, fixing 
his dark, melancholy eyes on his father. “ He would 
have been as well content with the appearance of victory 
as with victory itself. I only fear you will no longer 
receive invitations to his wife’s receptions.” 

“ And great will be my grief and inconsolable my wife.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE OLD SERPENT. 

Doctor Comet rapidly went down the stairs after leav- 
ing Steelyard, and his face assumed an air of dissatisfac- 
tion and almost sadness, which little harmonized with the 
cheerful look and the affable dignity calculated for pub- 
licity. His cab was waiting for him at the door. He 
hesitated for a moment before he told the driver his new 
destination, and then entered, absorbed in thought. 

“ I do not know,” he said to himself, “why I dislike 
that man so much. This pedantic old fool with his 


40 


THE OLD SERPENT. 


Greeks and Romans ! I sometimes feel as if he tried to 
be ironical with me, this bookworm who does not know 
any more of the world than a new-born baby, or whose 
whole wisdom does not produce enough to enable him to 
provide for his family. And I verily believe he thinks he 
is a happy man. Such conceit ! I should not wonder if 
he goes to bed every night early, sleeps well, rises well^ 
and then breakfasts well ! — and I ! I never sleep as I 
should like to sleep ; I never fail to lie awake. The 
burden of such an enormous responsibility weighs 
me down ! 

“Perhaps my antipathy against the doctor is a reflex 
of my relations to my unsympathetic wife. But I knew 
all that before I married her, and I never thought that 
love was necessary in marriage. To be sure, if I dream 
that I might have married Lily Blank ! — A charming 
woman ! — I never saw human being with head so 
divinely set on the neck, and the neck on the shoulders \ 
The Venus of Milo alone in the whole world has that 
neck. But even her complexion is enchanting. This 
faintly yellow shade, mixed with a little gray, is more 
pleasing to my- eyes than the freshest, rosiest face on 
earth. When I look at that morbidezza which I admire 
as I would worship an angel from Heaven, I must think 
of the many nights she has spent in wild orgies and of 
the storms which have raged in the heart of this passion- 
ate being. And her eyes ! they are unfathomable ! I 
believe the woman bears some resemblance to myself. 
There is always some secret behind. I believe her capa- 
ble of anything, this daughter of Moab, and in myself 
also I feel a demon that might drive me, circumstances 
being favorable, to the sublimest act of Divine mercy, or 
the most fearful of crimes ever committed by a Judas 
Iscariot ! 

“ What would have been the outcome, I wonder, if I 


THE OLD SERPENT. 


41 


had married her instead of this mollusk Rachel ? When 
I imagine her, with her royal carriage and her lofty head 
worthy of wearing a crown, striding grandly across my 
paths, I feel an irresistible impulse, a burning desire to 
call her mine. But who can trust her? She always 
reminds me of the Sphinx in the Sahara. What an in- 
scrutable face on the winged body of a lioness ! But 
what paws, what mighty crushing paws she has ! 

“Lily was not ten when I married Rachel. How could 
I at that time foretell that I should ever meet a Lily ? I 
married the daughter of Abraham because I thought it 
would be to my advantage, and I have profited by my 
connection with the Liondells. Now, however, the Jews 
are a yoke on my neck. Even in the Diet one or the 
other looks at me sideways when Jews are mentioned, 
and this relationship alone, I believe, stands between 
me and the minister’s portfolio. Pshaw ! Who knows ? 
The end is not yet ! After all, I may have done very 
well. Rachel is indolent, she studies her books, doles out 
the potatoes to the servants, amuses herself with her 
dressmaker, and lets me have my own way. I believe 
she is not even aware of the share Lily has of my life. 
But if Lily were my wife — I might as well live in a dyn- 
amite factory ! 

“ Even now, although she is not my wife, I often dread 
her. Her passion is unbounded, and since I committed that 
grievous blunder and let her know that the child is still 
alive, she is a changed person. We never learn to know 
women however old we may be ! I should have expected, 
it seems to me everything on earth rather than this long- 
ing for her child. What sentimentality ! I cannot in the 
least understand it ! — now — after eighteen years ! My 
wise brother-in-law would show me on her occiput how 
the organ of maternal love makes a big bump there ! 
She insists upon taking the girl into her house as her 


42 


THE OLD SERPENT. 


ni!£e. But I do not trust these Blanks ; their circum- 
stances are too fearfully disordered. Herr Blank is not 
worth a pinch of powder, and if I were to surrender the 
child into their hands, they might make a lemon press of 
it, in which I should be the lemon.” 

Doctor Comet threw himself angrily into another cor- 
ner of his cab. “ If I could get rid of her in a fairway, I 
should feel strongly tempted to do it. It is, after all, 
great folly to carry on a love affair. It causes annoyance 
enough to make one feel twice married. I can remenber 
those fearful times, when she and I had broken and I had 
not seen her for years — how, merely to annoy me, she 
married this shoe-black, this man Blank. Every day, 
every hour, I longed for her. To be sure, that was a long 
time ago, and I have grown much older and calmer, — 
older certainly ; but it seems to me as if age had brought 
no peace, as if the years had only made me weaker, when 
facing my passions. 

“ If I only knew myself ! But I could swear by the 
Evil One, I do not know whether I love this desperate 
siren ! Buridan’s ass could not feel more embarrassed 
than I am. Well, here we are !” 

Comet paid the driver, and slipped into the next house 
door. He mounted two flights of stairs, rang a bell, a 
maid appeared, and he was shown in. 

In the elegantly furnished room, into which he entered 
unannounced, the lady of his thoughts was lying on a couch 
and seemed to read. Her face was turned away from 
the door, and possibly she was really so deeply interested 
in her book, which was lying before her on the back of an 
Angola cat, that she did not become aware of the pres- 
ence of a stranger. By her side was a dainty little stand 
of bronze with a tea-service of exquisite porcelain, from 
which the fragrance of the very strong tea arose, which 


THE OLD SERPENT. 


43 


Comet knew was the lady’s favorite beverage. A pecu- 
liar, novel light produced by skillful arrangement of 
portieres, curtains and shades, and by the colored veils 
hung over several electric lights, and in addition to all, 
the delicate odor of a newly invented essence, lent the 
room a peculiar charm which captured the senses. Doc- 
tor Comet paused a moment on the threshold, and a 
slight trace of apprehension appeared in his features, as 
he tried to read the face of the fair siren. 

Her appearance could not be more peaceful. Grace- 
fully leaning back, her proud head slightly bent forward, 
her right hand was resting on the head of the cat, which, 
blinking and winking, squinted at the new-comer, and the 
large ruby on the little finger shone with uncanny fire 
from out of the snow-white fur of the creature. With 
her left she held the book. Her feet were crossed, as with 
the sleeping genius in Greek sarcophagi, her black dress 
hung down to the carpet in picturesque folds. But this 
image of peace did not satisfy the visitor. He could not 
jret rid of the thought that the beautiful woman resem- 
bled too strikingly the cunning, subtle animal, which 
might with lightning speed shoot forth those sharp claws 
in which it delighte. 

He approached her with a smile on his face, and began 
in a caressing voice, “ Little children’s little kitten loves to 
be stroked — ” when Lily suddenly raised her eyes from 
the book, and as she opened wide her long-fringed eye- 
lids, a flash of lightning sprang forth which made him 
stop instantly. 

“ My sweetest Lily, I am unhappy beyond expression, 
that I could not come sooner to bring you my most cor- 
dial congratulations on this, your birth-day, but business 
of the most important and the most urgent nature—” 

He seized the hand with the magnificent ruby to kiss 
it as usual, but she quickly snatched it away from him, 


44 


THE OLD SERPENT. 


so that he could only feel how icy cold it was. The kitten 
opened its huge mouth wide to yawn, and showed all of 
its white little teeth. 

“ No apologies, I beseech you !” said the lady. The 
tone of her voice was deep and pure. It had those gen- 
tle vibrations which, to some hearts, are irresistibly at- 
tractive. 

“ You are right.,” said Comet, taking a seat and trying 
to look unconcerned. “Between us external formalities 
are useless formalities. You know, of course, as well as 
myself, that nothing but the most absolute necessity 
could have kept me away from here on such a day. But 
see, my dearest heart, how do you like this sample of 
my artist’s taste?” With these words he handed her a 
velvet-lined case, containing a magnificent necklace of 
large golden balls. 

“I had told him,” he continued, “it must be perfectly 
simple, as it was intended for a bust in which the exquis- 
ite purity of the outlines forbade all artificial ornamen- 
tation.” 

He handed her the case, as he thought he noticed a 
disposition to stretch out her hand so as to receive it, 
but her slender, pointed fingers never took hold of the 
jewel ; the superb chain fell on her satin dress and rolled 
down to the floor with a slight clinking noise. The cat 
pounced upon it in a moment, and at once began to play 
with the costly toy. 

He bit his lips and watched the play with bitterness 
intense. “You are an entertaining visitor,” said Lily, 
after a lengthy pause. 

“ It seems to me I have said more than you,” he re- 
plied. 

“ Ah, my friend, if it is a trouble to you to speak to 
me, you had better not have asked your wife’s permis- 
sion to come here.” 


THE OLD SERP.ENT. 


45 


“Pshaw,” he exclaimed angrily. “Do you want to 
make a scene ?” 

“And you,” she said laughing, and half rising, “you 
neglect weignty affairs of State to witness scenes. What 
keeps you here ? the door is open. I know you are tired 
of me. You only wait for an opportunity to get rid of 
me. Go, my friend, go and never return !” 

“ Really ?” he asked rising. “ Well, if that is what you 
want — farewell !” 

Pale with anger he took his hat, bowed, and resolutely 
went to the door. She followed his movements with 
watchful eyes, and, as he seized the handle, she was 
behind him with one leap, seizing him by the shoulders 
and flashing lightning at him from her glorious eyes. 

“You will go, Baldwin ?” she said with a hissing voice. 

“You have made me go,” he answered angrily, and 
freed himself from her grasp. 

“ Don’t go !” 

“ I am no fool !” He opened the door. She followed 
him. Without minding the astonishment in the ser- 
vants’ hall, as he opened the door leading to the stair- 
case, she went after him, step by step, down the long 
stairs, like his shadow. 

At the foot of the stairs he paused. 

“Are you entirely mad ?” he asked fiercely, in a whis- 
per. “ How can you commit yourself ,in this way ? We 
know not whom we may meet.” 

“I do not care !” was the answer. 

He shrugged his shoulders and went on. At the 
house-door, before leaving the portico, he paused once 
more, considering that it might be embarrassing for him, 
also, to be seen in the street in company with a .lady 
of wondrous beauty, but without bonnet or gloves. 

“ What is it you want ?” he asked. 

“ The address of my daughter !” 


46 


THE OLD SERPENT. 


“ I do not know what you mean by calling her so 
pathetically, my daughter ! She is as much my daugh- 
ter as yours, and I hope I shall do my duty to her better 
than you do.” 

“Give me the address !” she repeated. 

“No, I’ll give you nothing !” 

“Well— then I stay here. Wherever you go, to the 
theatres, to a ball, to the session of the Diet, to Rachel, I 
shall cling to you like a burr, and should it be my last 
day.” 

He clinched his teeth. He feared her passion was 
strong enough to make her really do what she threatened, 
and thus compromise him or make him ridiculous. He 
determined to yield. 

“ Surely you are as mad as you are fair — or more so. 
When I was quietly sitting by your side, and you might 
have gotten from me all things at leisure, you drove me 
out of your house. And now, when I obey orders and 
leave you, you come running after me. Is that logic ?” 

u I never had any logic,” she promptly replied. 

Astounded and almost disposed to laugh, he heard 
these words. It occurred to him what folly it was to 
quarrel with a woman, and to demand of Lily what she 
really was not able to give. He looked at her and noticed 
how beautiful she was in her wrath. Her eyes were black 
and brilliant, her skin paler than usual, and her hair, 
resembling bronze, seemed to change into tongues of fire. 

He said very calmly. 

“ Dearest Lily, I see I was wrong. Pardon me what 
I have done amiss, and let us return to your rooms. 
You see,” he said as they were ascending the stairs once 
more, “as to that address, you shall have it. I heartily 
approve your plan — to take the girl under the name of 
your niece into your house — only I have some hesitation 


THE OLD SERPENT. 


47 


about the time and precise way of doing it. But we can 
discuss that !” 

“Are you in earnest?” she asked; “you members of 
the Diet are such eels — so smooth and so slippery !” 

“Oh, Lily!” he .said reproachfully. 

Thus they returned into the tempting apartments. The 
baroness dropped into a low, luxurious arm-chair, and let 
her tears flow. He sat down facing her and was silent. 

“ Let me tell you,” said Lily, in a mosf melancholy 
voice, “ that I have for several days anticipated this 
meeting and suffered greatly. Why I did so, you know 
perfectly well.” 

He made no replv, but looked at her. 

“ If you really loved me, you would know what I mean. 
But, to be sure, what do I expect ? I had hoped so 
much from that evening when I was to introduce 
Chessa Molini at the Alliance club. I hoped surely you 
would be there. I never dreamt that you could disap- 
point me. For you only I had dressed myself as I rarely 
do, for you alone my hair was arranged — as you like it ! 
And the evening would have been so grand if I had seen 
you there. Everybody was full of animation, the Chica 
created an immense sensation, and I made a charming 
new acquaintance, a Prince Lignac, who had himself pre- 
sented to me, and who turned out a charming young 
man, and seemed to take a special interest in the Chessa, 
sat by her at table, and had wonderful powers of conver- 
sation. I do not remember ever having met with a more 
interesting companion. But all that was pleasant was 
ruined, as far as I was concerned, by your absence. Oh, 
pray, hush I Do not tell me at length how the Committee’s 
Sittings or the Bank Correspondence kept you at work 
all night ! I know that ! I know that the State was ir- 
revocably ruined if you had qot saved it that evening. 
^Nevertheless it was very humiliating to me, that you did 


48 


THE OLD SERPENT. 


not appear at the club that night ! I feel more than ever 
that our alliance is balancing on the sharp edge of a 
knife, and may at any moment come to an end. You 
will throw me away like an old, worn-out glove ! And 
this is to be the end of a passion which you once told me 
glowed in your heart with immortal fire !** 

Doctor Comet observed Lily as she was thus speaking, 
with admiration of the ever-changing play of her fea- 
tures, and enchained by the wonderful low notes of her 
melodious voice, which held him in bonds like nothing 
else on earth. Once more she stood before him, a fair 
and dangerous riddle, which he must solve. His heart 
told him that he could not live without her, his mind 
warned him that he ought to give her up if he ever 
wished to be happy ! 

He bent down, picked up the golden chain, with which 
the pretty kitten no longer cared to play, and laid it on 
the little stand, at the same time asking for a cup of 
tea. 

“ I do not know which, the excellent qualities of your 
green Pecco, or the charming sight of your beautiful 
hands, when they are busy with the little kettle and the 
gold box, affect me so pleasantly. But these precious 
hours, when I have taken tea with you, are the sweetest 
in my whole life, this room my paradise in this restless, 
ever busy world ; I cannot give them up, even if you will 
embitter them by your mQst unjust accusations, you 
wicked fairy. By the way, you mentioned the other day 
a note which might embarrass your husband. I have 
brought the money. You will perhaps be so kind as to 
give it to him Y* 

Lily rose, took the notes with a slight nod, and went 
with them to the escritoire at some distance. She 
seemed to know with what eager eyes the statesman 
would follow her steps, and how he loved to watch her 



ALPHONSE AT ONCE ADVANCED TO WELCOME SENORXTA MOLINT. S&C 1 figc 23. 


50 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


gentle, undulating motions, for she busied herself a 
little more than was absolutely necessary in locking up 
the money, and then pretended to arrange the silver tea- 
equipage. Twice her dress touched him, and she took 
up the quaint necklace and put it around her neck. At 
last she came up to him, most humble in her looks and 
ways, and said with folded hands : 

“Pardon me, I was childish ! You are a great man, 
and hence I find it hard always to meet you on your own 
ground. My love may kill me.” 


CHAPTER V. 

ANOTHER LOVE. 

The pale young man who was so profoundly disgusted 
with the injustice practiced by mankind in the world, was 
Doctor Steelyard’s second son, called Ephraim. This 
name had from time immemorial been in the family, 
and in spite of the mother’s opposition, he also had 
been condemned to bear it since his birth. He had 
studied at Berlin, and the aim of his life was to become 
a professor of history. He was immensely industrious, 
and had no interest for anything aside from Science. 
Books were his sole companions ; the study-lamp his 
sun. He was barely twenty years old, but already his 
teachers looked upon him with marvel and with admira- 
tion, hoping that he would be a light in Science that 
might explain much. At the college already the acute- 
ness of his intellect and the cutting criticism of his mind 
had made a sensation. Never was a word uttered in the 
lecture-room lost by him. He had always been at the 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


51 


head of his classes, and his examinations were rather 
conversations between equals. 

Gradually, however, the color faded out of his face, 
the spirit wore out the body, and the blade began to use 
up the scabbard. His soul was pure and chaste ; no 
earth-born passion had ever yet invaded it, but now an 
indescribable longing began to spring up in him. There 
were days when he awoke early, as soon as the sun sent 
the first golden rays across the deep blue ether, and when 
a feeling roused him that to-day he must seek that hap- 
piness to which he was by nature entitled. Then he rap- 
idly dressed, as under the impulse of a foreign power, 
and anxiously he hastened out into the street. Whither 
next ? He knew it not. Eagerly scanning the morning 
sky, he stood there uncertain what to do, where to go, 
until he had a vague feeling that he was summoned in 
this direction or that, and he hurried off with beating 
heart and burning breast. His pale complexion, the 
glowing fire in his eyes, his strange ways, all attracted 
people’s attention ; workmen, street sweepers, beggars, 
stared at him and set him down as an unhappy youth 
who was flying home, half-drunk, after a badly spent 
night. So young and already so bad, said the market- 
women, who were fixing up their baskets in the morning, 
and shook their heads at the handsome, but dissolute 
young man. 

He tried to read his books, but even his favorite 
writers no longer held him ; he read a page or two and 
found that he did not know what he had read. He was 
terrified at himself, and no angel came from heaven to 
bring him on golden dishes the spiritual food after which 
he longed and yearned ! 

These days of bitter humiliation, however, alternated 
with other days full of haughty pride. On these days 
he was ready for his work, great tasks shrank down into 


52 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


slight efforts ; when he wrote, his pen flew over the 
paper. Then he felt confident of success ; his courage 
was high and he looked upon the future as his property 
— he was sure he would be great and famous. 

His suffering air induced his parents to send him out 
of Berlin. They tried to persuade him to give up his 
studies for a time and to live in the country, but he 
did not accept the advice. He did not think he could 
live without work, and disliked immensely to be consid- 
ered delicate. He had been deeply wounded and low- 
ered in his own eyes when he found himself rejected as 
a 'volunteer for the Army. His pride was hurt, and he 
felt so humiliated by this open avowal of physical weak- 
ness, that for a time he avoided meeting his old friends. 

His parents tried to console him, recalling to his 
mind the fact that in all his life he had not once been sick 
enough to consult a physician, and that he was only 
less muscular perhaps than other young men grown 
up in the open air. 

He resolved at last to leave Berlin and to go to Heid- 
elberg for a year. “Many young men goto that beau- 
tiful city to study, and when they get there, think no 
more of studying, but allow the charms of nature to be- 
witch them. I should be delighted to hear that you 
will do like these idle students, enjoy the enchanting 
surroundings, and never open a book !” So spoke the 
wise father. 

Ephraim said good-bye, travelled slowly from Cologne 
up the river, and reached Heidelberg in the period of 
Nature’s first and fairest awaking. Here he engaged 
simple rooms, in keeping with his modest means, entered 
his name for one series of lectures only, and tried 
to find pleasure in the beauty of Nature. But the sail 
up the Rhine had made him melancholy, and the lovely 
Neehan valley did not cheer him. He daily made 


ANOTHER LOYE. 


53 


his way up to the Castle, the most beautiful ruin on 
God’s earth, and gazed out upon the enchanting land- 
scape, but he grew sadder every day. He discovered 
that it had been a mistake to come to Heidelberg, for the 
beauties of Nature only increased his longing, and never 
satisfied his wishes. 

One splendid, warm evening, as he was sitting quite 
alone among the ruins of the Castle, and saw the sun set 
in marvelous splendor, he felt so lonely, so forsaken by 
God and man that at last the tears came pouring forth 
in hot torrents. He rose at once, feeling heartily 
ashamed of himself, and vowed he would never again 
allow himself to be thus overcome. 

He went home, lit his lamp, and went deep into his 
Aristotle, till he gradually grew more quiet and com- 
posed. He had never attached himself to other students. 
His delicate nature shrank from contact with merry but 
coarse young men ; their conversation, showing that they 
never reflected on what they were saying, and did not 
know what had been written on the subject, was painful 
to him, and as to beer-drinking and wine-bibbing, he 
hated it because it deprived him of that clearness of per- 
ception which he valued most highly. 

Only with one single student he had become acquainted. 
This was a harmless, good-natured young man, with 
whom Ephraim felt at his ease. The greatest charm, 
however, which this friend had was that Adolf — this was 
his name — played the piano wonderfully well. Music 
was Ephraim’s greatest enjoyment, and when he could 
lie on his friend’s sofa, with a volume of new poems in his 
hand, and listen to his playing, all evil spirits were ban- 
ished, and he felt himself lifted up to higher spheres. 

Opposite Ephraim’s rooms there stood an old, odd- 
looking house, which he enjoyed highly. It was evidently 
of hoary old age, for it was built as no one for many 


54 


ANOTHER LOYE. 


hundred years had ever dreamt of building, and he had 
never seen the like of it anywhere. It had a mysterious 
air about its stone carvings and marvelously deep win- 
dow embrasures, with quaintly painted wood-panels. 
Ephraim often fancied that behind those small windows, 
with their countless little panes, set in lead, true happi- 
ness must be hidden. 

Each story of this quaint house overlapped the lower 
one considerably, so that the house was much larger 
above than below. But the most attractive feature ol 
the whole building was a projection which protruded out 
upon the street. Below, it rested upon a single highly 
ornamented column, which stood in the middle of the 
sidewalk, so that people passed underneath, while the 
odd projection rose up as far as the roof. It contained 
three rooms in as many stories, each with three windows, 
one looking upon the street, and one on each side, from 
which one could -look up and down the whole street. 
And such charming, poetical little windows they were, 
framed in with stone garlands of fruits and flowers, and 
scenes from the Old Testament between them, while in 
the second story a number of blooming flowers and cacti 
adorned tbem from within. Around the pillar, which 
was covered with rich carvings and ended at the top in 
the leaves of a palm tree, children were always playing, 
and when it rained people would be waiting here till the 
rain ceased ; they had an abundance of time in Heidel 
berg, very different from Berlin. 

From this house now there sounded very often melo- 
dies which made Ephraim listen in rapture, and he dis- 
covered in the course of time that his uncouth blonde 
friend was the performer. The two young men went 
the same way to their lectures, and thus began their 
acquaintance. Adolf Ryman was silent, and Ephraim 
liked that. He thought the world good enough — what 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


55 


was the use of losing words about it ? All was good that 
was, and if anything was not good — could we alter it ? 
He, on his side, liked to listen to Ephraim when he ex- 
plained to him his notions of the government of the 
world, wondered* at this waste of cleverness, and nodded 
his head as his only reply. His repose was not to be 
shaken. He was of mighty stature, a genuine old Ger- 
man, with large blue eyes, light golden hair, and a maid- 
en’s complexion. He had served his year in the Army 
as a volunteer, standing as the tallest on the right wing 
of the company. Ephraim liked his indolence ; he could 
do what he chose, Ryman was always content. Toward 
evening Ephraim used to go across into the old house as 
soon as he heard the piano. Then he climbed two steep 
flights of stairs, across spacious landings, into the low 
room where the fair-haired student was at home, nodded 
to him, who never stopped, and lay down on the sofa. 
Mr. Ryman played and played, now Norma and now Lo- 
hengrin, now from printed music and then from his own 
fancy, and Ephraim dreamt and was happy. But at 
eight o’clock Mr. Ryman rose, took his many-colored stu- 
dent’s cap and his long pipe, nodded and went away, 
never caring for what became of his visitor. The latter 
followed him after a while and returned to his own room. 
Ryman spent the evening at his club, and destroyed 
incredible quantities of beer. He was a splendid beer- 
drinker, calm, smiling and invincible. 

One fine day, when Ephraim as usual, attracted by 
Mozart s melodies, came across to visit his friend, he saw 
a girl sitting on a table before his friend’s door who 
struck him as peculiar. She sat there perfectly uncon- 
cerned, resting one foot and swinging the other, while 
her simple blue frock was so short that Ephraim could 
distinctly see a stocking that had slipped down. The 
girl had genuine golden hair — Nature’s own precious 


56 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


metal — and radiant blue eyes ; at the moment when 
Ephraim became aware of her, she was biting, with two 
rows of splendid pearl-teeth, into a gigantic slice of brown 
bread and butter, and the teeth cut out a considerable 
circular space from the slice that was an inch thick. 
When she saw the strange gentleman, she laid the slice 
aside and blushed. 

Ephraim went into his friend’s room, sat down on the 
sofa, and thought what sort of a girl this damsel might be. 
Was it a servant ? Her dress was very plain. But for a 
servant she looked too delicate after all, and there was 
a certain something about her which pointed out a higher 
social position. Her appearance had struck Ephraim, 
and he could not help thinking of her. 

At last he asked his friend. 

“ A girl ?” asked the latter in return. 

“Yes, sitting there on a table before your door.” 

“ Perhaps sister !” replied Ryman, and went on play- 
ing. 

“ His sister !” Ephraim said to himself. “Where does 
she come from ? and why does she sit there before the 
door ? Does she live here ?” 

“ Is she here on a visit?” he asked at last, as Ryman 
got up and put his tiny cap on. 

Mr. Ryman looked at him amazed. “ On a visit ? No, 
she has been away on a visit and has come back now.” 

Now only Ephraim began to suspect that his friend 
might live in the bosom of a family. He had never sus- 
pected that, because no family had ever been mentioned. 

Mr. Ryman went and Ephraim followed, wondering 
inwardly at the character of this family. The girl was 
no longer sitting on the table, and he saw her no more. 

“ I should like to know the parents,” thought Ephraim, 
smiling. “These Rymans have evidently the pure, un- 
mixed blood of the old people of Tacitus in their veins.” 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


57 


The next day was a Sunday, and Ephraim thought, as 
the bells began to ring, that he would watch and see if the 
Rymans went to church. But they did not seem to go ; 
at least no one appeared. Just when he was about to 
give it up, he saw the girl of yesterday. She had come 
to one of -the quaint windows, opened it, discovered him 
instantly, and sent him a free glance across while shak- 
ing out a handkerchief. The light hair was hanging in 
unrestrained curls around her brow, and a ray of the sun 
falling upon it made it shine like burnished gold. 

Ephraim started back from the window quite distressed, 
and. then from the back-ground of his room continued to 
look across. But he saw nothing more. 

He heard that afternoon the piano begin at an unus- 
ually early hour, and as he was accustomed to look upon 
that as a signal he went across. To his astonishment he. 
found Mr. Ryman with a broad-brimmed straw-hat on his 
head and a burning cigar in his mouth, sitting at the 
piano, and heard from him that the family intended to 
have a picnic. 

Ephraim was all amazement and asked many questions, 
but before Ryman could answer, the door opened and 
in walked the fair-haired maiden with a bold step and a 
joyous face. She wore a small white hat with pink roses, 
a white dress of a very airy summer material, trimmed 
with pink, and had on her arm a small basket. Intui- 
tively Ephraim looked at her feet. The shoes were the 
primitive work of a primitive shoemaker, but could not 
entirely conceal the exquisite form that Nature had 
given. 

“ Come, Adolf !” she said. “ Father is waiting.” 

- Adolph raised his gigantic limbs slowly from his chair, 
nodded to his friend, and left. 

Ephraim was still watching thegirl and felt embarras- 
sed by his friend’s awkwardness, who did not introduce 


58 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


him. But the fair maiden seemed to have as simple 
views about introductions as her brother, for she looked 
at Ephraim with a pleasant smile, and said : “ Are you 
going with us ?” 

“ Oh, if you will permit me,” he stammered. 

“ Then come along,” she said, and he followed her. 

On the landing stood an enormous elderly gentleman 
with a red face, and a lady of good size, also advanced 
in years. 

“ Did you take the cake, Flora ?” asked the lady. 

“ All is packed and nothing forgotten !” replied the 
girl. 

“ Lock the doors ; do you hear ?” said the old lady. 

“ Need not be mentioned,” was the reply. 

During this time the old gentleman looked curiously 
at Ephraim, who was modestly standing in the back- 
ground. 

“ Mr. Steelyard,” said the fair-haired girl, in explana- 
tion. “ He will join us.” 

“ Very pleasant !” said the elderly man, courteously 
raising his hat. He had the same calm repose and the 
same slow motions as his colossal son. The old lady 
looked benignly at Ephraim, and then the whole com- 
pany set out on their excursion. Flora locked the last 
door and put the key into her basket. 

“ Odd people !” thought Ephraim. In his native town 
of Berlin he had been accustomed to a more careful in- 
vestigation before new friendships were formed. They 
walked down some distance, when all made halt. Young 
Ryman uttered a melodious whistle, Flora called out 
with her clear, ringing voice, “ Aunt Lotta !” and there 
appeared several heads in the windows. Then there 
was some trotting in the house, an elderly lady, two 
young girls and a half-grown lad in a gray coat with green 
collar and cuffs, appeared one by one in the house door, 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


59 


were cordially greeted and asked what they thought of 
the weather. The two girls giggled when they became 
aware of Ephraim, and then they went on all together. 

Old Mr. Rymanled the procession, followed by the two 
elderly ladies absorbed in a deep investigation into do- 
mestic affairs ; next came Flora arm in arm with the two 
girls, behind them Ephraim, sorely embarrassed, and 
Adolf and the future forester closed the whole. 

Ephraim suffered still under the impression which the 
young girl in the out-grown dress, with the swinging 
foot and the mighty inroad into the slice of buttered 
bread, had produced the day before. He could not help 
thinking of her brilliant blue eyes, the genuine golden 
hair and her lovely blush. This portrait disturbed his 
peace of mind. It had waked him early in the morning, 
had occupied his mind all these hours, and was now en- 
forced by her companionship. He was mechanically 
walking behind her, and watched unconsciously her 
beautiful figure. She was made of the same wood as 
her brother, to whose shoulder she nearly reached, and 
was almost as tall as Ephraim himself. Her neck must 
have been uncommonly elastic, for although she was all 
the time walking straight ahead, she still could turn her 
joyous face quite often to Ephraim, and look at him as if 
she meant to say, “It is nice in you to have joined us.” 

Thus they went on and up, on this warm, clear after- 
noon in June, out of the city and into the mountains of 
the Neekar Valley, always with merry chatting and joy- 
ous laughing of the three girls. They would continually 
leave the road to run sideways after some bright flowers, 
winding wreaths and making bouquets, as much at home 
in nature as finches and sparrows. Flora gave all the 
Latin names of the flowers, looking at Ephraim as if 
anxious to display her learning. On this occasion how- 


60 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


ever, it came out — no one knew how — that Flora had 
been sent away from school because she had been impu- 
dent. This made a painful impression upon Ephraim, 
who had always been a model pupil. 

He felt very uncomfortable, besides, because he had no 
chance to say a word that should have sounded natural — 
he appeared to himself so stiff and awkward. Thus he 
joined the old father Ryman, and began to discuss with 
him the history of the country. Father Ryman, however, 
although a highly educated man and a judge of the dis- 
trict, did not seem to have very clear ideas of the past 
history of his native land, and answered only slowly and 
imperfectly. The son and his green cousin — as the 
cousins would call him — sent forth merry songs into the 
forest, and practiced jumping over every ditch to which 
they came. The only thing which consoled Ephraim as 
to the melancholy part he played in this joyous company, 
was that nobody seemed to mind him. They were all per- 
fectly unconcerned, and apparently perfectly unconscious 
of his humor. Thus they climbed from mountain to 
mountain, enjoying the beautiful views, until at last they 
reached the Spire Farm, a kind of inn situated in the 
very heart of a magnificent old forest. Here they took 
possession of a table in the garden ; the heated, glowing 
girls unpacked the baskets, while young Ryman brought 
wine from the restaurant. Many other families from 
town had come to this place, greetings were exchanged 
right and left, and it was a merry sight for one who 
belonged to the crowd. The baskets produced bread 
and cheese, ham and eggs, cold chicken and abundance 
of cake which Flora confessed to have baked with her 
own little hands, and which seemed to be rather different 
from ordinary cake. They ate and drank and laughed. 
Contrary to his habit Ephraim emptied several glasses, 
and began to feel a little more at home among his new 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


61 


friends. After every morsel had been eaten and every 
drop had been drunk, Mamma Ryman and Aunt Lotta 
drew forth their knitting, Papa Ryman lit a long pipe, 
and Flora jumped up and proposed to play games. 

The young people plunged into the forest, and when 
they had reached a spot which was lonely and entirely 
illumined by a greenish-golden light, under the proud, 
giant trees they began their games. They probably 
were very complicated and difficult, for Ephraim did not 
understand them in the least. Now they had to hide 
behind a tree, and now to jump out of the wood into the 
open space, then again places were exchanged and he 
who blundered gave a pledge. The main point in the 
game was evidently the redeeming of these pledges, 
which partly consisted in kissing. Ephraim was sur- 
prised at the facility with which he learned to laugh like 
the others, and to enter into the spirit of the thing. He 
had already discharged the ticklish duty of kissing the 
two cousins with somewhat less awkwardness than he 
had apprehended, when chance would have it that he 
now should kiss Flora also. An hour ago he would 
have deemed that simply impossible ; now, however, 
after he had taken a good deal of wine and become as 
animated as his friends, he did not tremble much. Was 
it chance, or was Flora to blame, who directed all — but 
they found themselves at this moment at some distance 
from all the others. She looked at him with the sweetest 
smile in her eyes, and said, in a whisper, “ Why are you 
so sad?” Then — he never knew which — he kissed her 
or she kissed him, two soft arms were around his neck, 
he felt as if a glowing cloud were all about and around 
him, and two sweet lips pressed upon his own, which en- 
tirely deprived him of his senses. The sky, the trees, the 
turf, all danced around him, and formed a great, unfathom- 
able enigma, and when at last he was himself again, he was 


62 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


standing alone and did not know was he awake or 
dreaming. 

When a sick man has kept his room for many weeks 
and his mind has been weighed down day after day by 
anxious forebodings, so that he no longer notices the 
merry life of Nature, but looks upon the narrow walls 
of his sick room as the boundaries of the world, his first 
venture into the open air, his first drive out to the fields 
and'forests is apt to make such an impression upon him 
that his surroundings appear to him strange and almost 
oppressive. The winds of heaven intoxicate him and 
the light of the sun is too dazzling. 

Thus Flora’s lips seemed to possess some magic power 
to open the heavy gates which shut out living Nature 
from Ephraim’s oppressed mind. He looked into Nature 
and knew it no more. It had become another Nature. 
There were, to be sure, the same straight old trees yet 
standing, and above was still the green roof of leaves ; 
even the shrubbery which ranged itself around like 
scenery on the stage, was still there around their play- 
ground — but there was a certain something there, also, 
which had not been there before. The barriers seemed 
to have been broken down that separated him from the 
outer world, so that light and life, that were filling the 
world with their beauty, sent their waves also through 
him and his heart, and this new sensation made him 
unspeakably happy. He looked at little Flora, who was 
offering one of her cousins a bunch of wild strawberries 
with the utmost unconcern, with a gratitude which 
threatened to melt his heart, as if it had been made of 
wax. Then he entered into their games with a spirit 
and a cleverness at which he was himself surprised. He 
felt as if he had springs in his feet, and the rules were 
now as clear to him as if he had himself invented the 
game. He undertook to arrange the amusements in 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


63 


Flora’s place, and proposed a dance on the green turf. 
He danced with the cousins, he danced with Flora, he 
danced once more with the cousins, and he would not 
have been in the least surprised if he had suddenly risen 
into the air and continued to dance up there. But no ; 
Adolf and the forester were thirsty, and at their sugges- 
tion all returned to the restaurant. 

' The parents here found that it was late and time 
to go home, but the young people thought differently. 
Ephraim ordered some of the best wine in the cellars at 
his own expense, which all of them considered a sign of 
high breeding, while the two thirsty youths were enthu- 
siastic in their admiration. Thus they stayed till the 
shadows of the trees extended infinitely and a blue haze 
veiled the heights. 

Ephraim was an inexhaustible talker ; jests and 
humorous remarks poured from his lips, and he com- 
pletely controlled the conversation. They all looked at 
him in amazement, and could not comprehend where the 
wooden young man had all of a sudden found so much 
fire and spirit. He himself was surprised at the large 
fund of funny stories and witty sayings which had been 
lying idle within him, and now sprang forth like the 
water from the rock which Moses bade come forth with 
his rod. He poured out perfect fireworks over the two 
families which were here represented, so that they were 
dumbfounded, while Flora’s eyes never left him, and he 
saw it ! She was lost for the world and rocked to sleep 
by the sound of his voice, and he felt it ! But now it 
began to grow dark, and Father Ryman cleared his 
throat in a very ominous manner. “ Now it is time, I 
think,” he said slowly, and filled anew pipe for the return 
home. 

They broke up. Father Ryman went at the head, 
then came Aunt Lotta and Mamma Ryman, behind them 


64 : 


ANOTHER LOYE. 


the two young men, each with a girl on his arm. With 
splendid voices they all sang National and popular songs. 
Ephraim was the last, and had little Flora on his arm. 
He was happy, happier than he had ever been ! Darker 
and darker grew the forest, and a soft breeze passed 
through the branches. On the distant horizon sheet- 
lightning flashed up at times, and distant thunder, slowly 
passing away, rolled along the heights. She clung closer 
and closer to him and her hair at times touched his cheek. 
He heard her deep breathing, he felt the beating of her 
heart, and from time to time a low shivering passing 
through all her limbs. 

“ Are you afraid ?” he asked her. 

“Oh, no!” she replied; “only I feel the lightning 
before it comes. When I dress my hair it crackles, and 
when I comb it in the dark the sparks are always flying 
about.” 

Ephraim found himself back in Heidelberg when he 
thought he had but just started to return. He bade 
good-night to the cousins and their parents, Melia by 
name, and heartily shook hands with all the members of 
the Ryman family before the old house. Then he went 
to bed and slept till morning in a state of perfect bliss. 

He awoke and tried to remember where he was. “ How 
beautiful my dreams have been !” he at first said to him- 
self. Then he remembered having been on an excursion 
into the country and having kissed a very pretty damsel. 
“ She was sent away from school because of impudence — 
how badly that sounds ! I wonder what kind of impu- 
dence that may have been ? No doubt some harmless, 
simple remark which displeased the stiff old teacher who 
taught her, because he was too simple-minded to compre- 
hend the Divine, the holy, the pure in a little girl’s innocen 
head. The essentially womanly is beyond the majority 
of men, as they rarely ever understand the truly beauti- 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


65 


ful in man. Eternal womanhood is too high for them. 
He recalled every step he had taken yesterday in Flora’s 
company. He let her kiss him once more and hopped 
around with her on the green turf. The impression, 
however, was not the same as yesterday. His eyes 
seemed to look through different glasses this morning. 
He felt ashamed, and began to fear that he had not acted 
exactly as became the pupil of Aristotle. 

He looked up full of penitence, and dared not gaze, as 
usual, at the old house opposite. “These good, simple- 
minded people,” he said to himself, “ these child-like 
minds, touching and venerable in their old Germanic 
hospitality, like their old dwelling rich in memories, let 
you come to them and stay in their midst, without think- 
ing of the danger which you brought into their pure and 
chaste circle. And you — you had nothing better to do 
than to mislead that innocent child ! Are you really the 
demon that approached this holy maid ? She did not 
know her own heart — like the flower of the field she was 
unconscious of her own beauty, for I have seen how she 
neglects her appearance and adorns herself only to please 
her parents. And yet her heart, like every young maid- 
en’s heart, holds the germs of destruction within it, to 
lead her to the abyss as soon as the tempter approaches, 
for she has easily excitable blood coursing 'through her 
veins, mind, readiness of wit, and joy in every kind of 
pleasure. All the more you ought to have been cautious 
lest you should become the tempter ! But you are bad ! 
Now only I see why Nature has made me unhappy. The 
sun on high is too mighty for me — mountains and valleys 
and rivers I cannot destroy, but to destroy a rose — that 
I am able to do and I draw pleasure from' such destruc- 
tion !” 

He sank contrite into a chair and buried his face in his 
hands. 


66 


ANOTHER LOYE. 


“ Stern discipline will I inflict upon myself,” he said, 
getting up after long meditation ; “ never again shall joy 
lead me astray ! I will drink nothing but water. I will 
never look at the old house again. I will never more lis- 
ten to the tempting notes of music.” 

He sat down to his work and studied all day. 
He did not look across the street. When in the after- 
noon the piano was heard, he stopped his ears with cot- 
ton. He did not go to lecture in order not to see the 
young man who would bring the features of his sister to 
his memory. 

Ephraim had not left his rooms for three days. He 
had even sent for his meals, lest he should come once 
more into contact with that seductive outer world. 
Then, however, on the fourth day, when the piano had 
been playing a full half hour, and he had already gath- 
ered sufficient courage to hear it without imitating 
Ulysses in his precaution against the siren’s song, he 
heard his name called out. He turned quite pale, and 
the blood stood still in his veins. 

“ Hallo ! Ho !” somebody called out there with a pow- 
erful voice, and a wild echo came across the street. 

Ephraim stepped to the window. 

Over there in the corner windbw appeared young 
Ryman’s mighty bust, who asked across, “ Are you 
sick ?” 

Ephraim hesitated. “You have not caught cold, I 
hope, on our excursion ?” 

“ Oh, no !” replied the hermit of three days. 

“ Why do you play owl then in yoqr nest ? Come over 
here,” called out Adolf. 

This was too much. Ephraim took his hat and went 
over, but he went with slow, hesitating steps. 

“What atrocious want of consistency,” he said to him- 
self. “ Revenge, no doubt, will come. This day may 


ANOTHER LOYE. 


67 


decide the whole life’s fate of this young girl ! Your 
reappearance casts a new firebrand into her susceptible, 
innocent heart. How will she look at you ? What a 
tempest must be raging in her little heart !” 

He stopped at the door of the old house and thought 
it might be better to turn back. But would not that be 
ridiculous? What could he tell Mr. Ryman senior? 
“ Perhaps you will not see her to-day,” he comforted 
himself. 

He went up-stairs. Flora was out on the landing 
watering her flowers. His heart beat as high as his 
throat. He only saw her profile and was not sure 
whether she had seen him yet. But she must hear his 
steps. He took off his hat at all events. Flora did not 
see it. He was surprised and said, “ Good-evening, Miss 
Ryman !” Flora turned her back entirely to him and 
said, “ Good-day !” Her tone could not have been more 
indifferent if she had spoken to the butter-woman. 

Ephraim was thunderstruck. He felt as if somebody 
had poured a bucket of water over his head, but he soon 
recovered, and said angrily : “ Do you care so little for 
me?” 

“ Why ? You do not care for me,” she answered. 

“ How so ?” he asked in great surprise. 

“ Must I tell you?” she asked, turning round to faOe 
him reproachfully. 

“ Yes.” 

She made a wry face; and turned away from him. 

“I should like to know it,” he continued, and at that 
moment he felt as if he had been a great fool the last 
three days. 

“Well,” she replied, “it would have been but common 
courtesy to come over and to inquire how we all felt 
after the excursion. The distance is not very great !” 

Ephraim suddenly felt as if the Eternal Womanly was 


ANOTHER LOVE. 


several steps higher than Flora, through whom it as- 
sumed a very home-bred appearance. He had fancied 
he would find her overcome with fears, repentance, con- 
fusion, sorrow, and now all of a sudden he found that his 
little Flora had never lost her balance during these days 
— as he assuredly had — and that she saw nothing at all in 
his remaining away from her but a want of politeness. 

Even her voice did not sound quite as delicate, and 
he could suddenly well understand that she should have 
been expelled from school because of impudence. 

“You are right. I beg your pardon,” he said calmly. 
Then he went in and found Adolf there, just as usual, 
very unattractive. Ephraim determined to break off the 
intimacy. “ These people are made of too ordinary clay,” 
he said to himself. “ I would not profit by my intercourse 
with them in any way. I ought to have known that 
from their singing so correctly. I have never yet met 
with a really clever and finely organized man who could 
sing correctly. It is well the story is at an end.” 

He left to meditate again on the Lex Agraria , , which 
he meant to investigate in its hearings on the Roman 
Republic, for a scientific essay. Of Flora not a trace. 

But as he stepped out of the house into the street, a 
rose fell ffom above right before his feet, and when he 
looked up in great surprise, he caught a small sheen of 
golden hair, which was rapidly vanishing from the cor- 
ner window. He picked up the rose and went home, 
but the Lex Agraria was swallowed up in the stream of 
oblivion ; golden curls and blue eyes were instead swim- 
ming on top of the waves of life. He thought and 
thought, now of this and now of that, the whole evening, 
and after he had been lying a whole hour sleepless in 
bed, he struck his forehead and murmured : “Hauton 
timorumenos !” 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ROSES. 


69 - 


CHAPTER VI. 

UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ROSES. 

Ephraim awoke with an overflowing heart, full of 
incomprehensible longing, and as it were in poetic intox- 
ication. It was a soft, warm day, and the breezes com- 
ing down from the mountains brought burning torches 
to" his soul. He hastened out of town with his hot, 
heavy brow, through the paths under the trees, forming 
avenues in one place, and picturesque clumps and groups 
in other places. 

“ Ch, my bliss, when wilt thou come to me also ? Did 
I come too late into this world, or perhaps too soon, — 
has God given me my life only to take it back again, 
without my ever having been happy on earth ? Oh, 
come, my happiness, do not keep me waiting too long, 
or this feeble body will be consumed that was to enjoy 
thee !” He threw himself under a linden tree and gazed 
up at the emerald dome. A leaf fell straight into his 
face. He took it in his hand and examined it. “ Is not 
there a verse about a leaf of a linden tree ?” he said to 
himself again. “ It winds up thus, or nearly thus : ‘You 
will find it shaped like a heart, therefore lovers love best 
of all to sit beneath a linden tree !’ ' Lovers ! How I envy 
them ! How I envy every young man who is able to drown 
the languor of his soul, who can quench the thirst that 
consumes him within ! Why could not I love like others? 
The fair maid provokes me, she quarrels with me, she 
throws roses at me, and I might try to love her. Of course 
it would end fatally and bring unhappiness to all whom 
I approach. But no matter ! Better your heart breaks 


70 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ROSES. 


of the rose, than that you do not know love and die 
without love ! But how can I love her ? She is made of 
such different stuff ! She is one of a sound, strong and 
hearty race, a true German, and there is something, I know 
not what, in her, that is foreign to my nature. They are 
too coarse-grained for me, these Germans ; in their pres- 
ence I feel the blood of my fathers moving within me, the 
blood of the oldest race on earth, — of the people of the 
Lord !” 

Wearied and fatigued by roaming about and hard 
thinking, his head sank on his arm and he fell asleep 
under the linden tree. After a while he awoke and felt 
a better man. He went on and became aware that he 
was hungry and thirsty, and when he looked at his 
watch he found to his amazement that it was four 
o’clock in the afternoon. And he had left his house 
early in the morning ! Fortunately, he soon discovered, 
after striking a public road, a house that looked inviting. 
Before the door he saw a vine-covered porch, under 
which two young men were discussing a bottle of wine. 
As he came nearer, he recognized in one the future 
forester with the green collar and cuffs ; the other was a 
student. He joined them and ordered something to eat 

The view before the lonely inn was enchanting. Be- 
low, the river moved slowly along here in its quiet, shin- 
ing way ; on the other slppe the hills, in ever-changing 
hues, presented here ’ vineyards and there tilled fields, 
with groups of trees scattered about, and in the far dis- 
tance the colors melted all into a beautiful lilac, and one 
could not tell where the earth ended and where the sky 
began. “ How these two German youths enjoy life !” 
Ephraim said to himself. Browned by exposure to air 
and sun, rosy-cheeked, and with brilliant eyes from the 
fiery wine they had drunk, they chatted and laughed and 
felt themselves lords of creation. He felt kindly towards 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ROSES. 71 

both of them, they were so simple and so natural ! He 
looked at them with the same pleasure that the sight of 
a pair of fine horses or of slow-walking, high-bred steers 
would have given him. He ate and drank and carried 
on a merry conversation with them. For a short hour at 
least, he felt as if he also were a young man who belonged 
to the world and was like other men. 

The conversation turned upon the excursion which he 
had made with the Rymans and where they had become 
so intimate. “ You are not a first cousin of my friend 
Ryman ?” Ephraim asked the lad. 

“Well, no; the connection is rather distant, and I 
could not easily trace it here, but we have been used, 
from childhood up, to call them uncle and aunt.” 

“ Have you also been used to kiss them ?” asked 
Ephraim, suddenly seized with a painful feeling in his 
heart. N 

“Ah,” said the youth, pulling out his tobacco pipe, “ if 
so, I would probably not have been the only one.” 

“ I should think so,” said the student. “ Little Flora 
is a kind-hearted, good girl.” 

“ Do you also know her ?” asked Ephraim. 

“ I have only met her a few times, and once or twice I 
have danced with her.” 

“ And also kissed her once or twice ?” cried Ephraim, 
with a forced laugh. 

“ Oh, no ! not so fast !” was the reply. “ I do not care 
much for women — those are tempi passati.” 

Mr. Ryman raised the big green bottle, held it against 
the light, and regarded with a sigh the little wine that 
was still left at the bottom. 

“ Heaven knows,” he said, “ we must have eaten new 
herrings to-day ; I have a thirst that is colossal in its 
wrath.” 


72 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ROSES. 


“ For thirst there is no better remedy than drink,” said 
the student, and knocked on the table. 

The pretty waitress appeared, was pleased when the 
student pinched her round arms, and went to get a new 
bottle. 

“ With us,” said the student, “at our drinking bouts 
everybody is thirsty ; we empty our glass and sing, 

4 Salt, salt, salt is the sea 
How could it otherwise be ? 

Is it not full of herrings ?’ ” 

And thus they drank glass after glass and grew merry 
and gay. Once more the student brought out a remin- 
iscence of his student’s life when he quoted St. Augustine 
as saying : “ The soul, which is a spirit, cannot live with- 
out spirit — though it be but wine !” 

When this bottle was empty, the two young men de- 
clared that they must start or they would be too late. It 
now appeared that they were on their way to the forester 
and had only turned in here to rest awhile, or, as they call- 
ed it, to refresh the inner man. They invited Ephraim to 
accompany them, as the day was gone by and he could 
not go to lecture any more. Then he tried to settle the 
matter by telling Ephraim that Cousin Flora, with the 
two cousins, were all on a visit at the forester’s, and would 
be delighted to see them all come. The afternoon was 
beautiful. The sun shone in its purest, golden light, a 
mild, fresh air played in the tops of the trees, the little 
forest-birds twittered merrily, and sang, hopping from 
branch to branch, and rejoiced in life, the bees were 
humming around the flowers busy gathering their -first 
tribute, beetles and butterflies darted to and fro, and 
all nature seemed to invite man for once to be as wise as 
the animals are, to give up meditations and to enjoy life. 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ROSES. 


73 


Thus at least it seemed to Ephraim, who could think of 
nothing better than to accompany the. youngsters and 
to serve as an escort for the lonely maidens, when they 
should attempt returning through the dark forest. 

Thus they came, an hour later, to a lovely valley, all 
around enclosed by well-wooded heights, and in one cor- 
ner, where a little mountain brook formed a pretty, 
purling cascade, stood the forester’s lodge. A deep 
barking received them and soon two beautiful, thorough- 
bred Irish setters welcomed them, recognizing young 
Ryman as soon as their noses touched his clothes. 

The forester’s lodge was built after the pattern of 
Swiss cottages, the roof projecting several yards, and on 
the outer end supported by heavy beams coming out 
from the walls. Thus they formed, on three sides of 
the house, a cosy, well-sheltered verandah, where Ephraim 
noticed, with great inner satisfaction, a number of quiet, 
contemplative seats, on which two kindred souls might 
pleasantly exchange sentiments. How sweet it must be 
here when great heat was brooding in the valley, or when 
the rain came gently down upon the firs and spruces and 
diffused an aromatic odor far and near ! In the mean- 
time the clouds had lowered and the evening haze was 
covering all with a transparent veil, and now they all 
gathered in the front room, where the windows came 
down to the ground and the creepers and climbers 
peeped in anxiously. For the whole house was covered 
with all kinds of utterly useless but joyous creepers, 
roses, wisteria, ivy, so that the dark red timber, of which 
the house was built, could hardly be seen, and the colos- 
sal stag’s head over the front door could only peep 
through the confusion of branches and the masses of 
flowers and leaves. 

This close foliage embraced with its tenacious hold 
also the pillars which supported the gallery above, 


74 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ROSES. 


covered this gallery itself, which ran around the second 
story of the stately house, and actually began to mount 
to the roof, so as to furnish an innumerable supply of 
hiding places for the swallows that flew continually to 
and fro and around-, in the merry enjoyment of motion. 
Finally, as Ephraim was following it with gratified looks 
all about the house, it furnished the loveliest frame for a 
blooming face with radiant blue eyes, which, adorned 
with golden curls, more charming and refreshing than 
all the roses about, was looking down from the gallery, 
and sent the sweetest smile he had ever seen down to the 
good youth. 

This was so charming, so enchanting, that Ephraim 
closed his eyes and then opened them again, curious to 
see if this was a dream or if Flora Ryman was really 
there smiling down upon him ? No, it was really so, and 
he took off his hat with a courteous bow, which she 
returned with a slow nodding of the head, as if she were 
absorbed in deep meditation. This gentle bowing of the 
head filled Ephraim with all kinds of strange sensations, 
and he felt a strong inclination to go up-stairs in the 
gallery, and to begin once more such a sweet conversation 
as in the dark forest, with the sweet, dear girl. 

His two companions had their hands full, to speak to 
the forester, to inquire after the health of good Lever- 
sham, the faithful gamekeeper whom poachers had 
severely wounded, to praise the dogs, to admire a new self- 
loader, and to tease a fox which the forester kept chained 
behind the house. Ephraim did not appreciate these 
topics and with beating heart made his way up-stairs. As 
if guided by an invisible genius he promptly found the 
door leading to the gallery, and a few moments later 
was sitting opposite little Flora, who sat there in the half- 
veiled green as in a bower, and was quite alone. The 
cousins had gone to meet the young men, and were now, 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ROSES. 


75 


as the growling and snarling in the courtyard and loud 
laughter proclaimed, busy teasing the arch-robber in 
company with the young men. 

Ephraim was greatly embarrassed finding Flora alone, 
and knew not what to say. She rested her snow-white 
arm on the railing, her head on her hand, and looked at 
him, smiling at his confusion. Her hair shone more 
brightly than ever, the beautiful complexion of her well- 
shaped countenance, the blue eyes, the long dark lashes, 
a curling twist of hair that hung on her brow, all this had 
something embarrassing for Ephraim, and made him lose 
all self-control. 

He suddenly remembered his resolution never again 
to approach the girl, and felt with terror into what dan- 
ger he had rushed of a sudden. He could not even 
remain sitting still or speaking of indifferent subjects ; 
he was compelled by an invisible power, to give doleful 
utterance to his feelings. 

“ Miss Flora,” he began, “ I did not know you were 
here, or I should not have ventured to come up. I mean,” 
he continued, his confusion increasing all the time, as she 
looked him in the face marveling, “I mean you are too 
beautiful for my peace and I had better avoid you. I 
began to fear when I was near you. I fear I am speak- 
ing discourteously and confusedly, but that is not my 
fault. It must be that there is a demon within me, who 
rules me when I see you. For I lose my consciousness 
altogether, and am, so to say, drifting down a mighty 
river. I hoped so much to see you again — really, I re- 
joiced at the idea, and now I feel as if I were standing 
near an abyss. Pardon me ! I only wished to explain to 
you why I cannot stay here and must never see you 
again. I did not know you would have such great 
power over me. I must bid you farewell. Pardon me, 
and farewell !” 


76 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ROSES. 


He was going to run away after these words, but Flora 
looked at him with such an enchanting, bewitching smile, 
and that so pitifully, that he stood still, quite overcome. 

Then she seized his hand and made him sit down op- 
posite to her. Flora had understood his words very dif- 
ferently from what he had intended. She had heard her 
brother say that Ephraim was a very great scholar, and 
she was, on the other hand, convinced that learned men 
were always a little demented, and hence she felt it the 
duty of sheltering and protecting woman to hold out a 
saving hand to such a somnambulist. 

“All that you tell me there/* she said in a low voice 
and with cast down eyes, “ proves to me that you love 
me, only I cannot comprehend why you should be so 
frightened by that ! I will not conceal from you that 
your love is to me a source of unspeakable delight.” 

“Oh, Miss Ryman !” said he, blushing. 

“ And you mean to banish me from your presence 
because your love fills you with apprehension. A bold 
and brave lover you are forsooth ! And what more 
could you do to me if you hated me ? However, I beg 
to assure you, if the love I inspire is such a very bad 
thing, that I never intended to do you such grievous 
harm. And yet — I cannot help it. I must tell you how 
greatly, how very greatly I rejoice in your love !” 

Ephraim raised his hands with an imploring gesture, 
and thought his heart would burst with such bliss and 
such fear, as she tenderly looked at him once more. 

“I well knew,” she continued very wisely, “the dan- 
gers to which love exposes us, but can we not face them 
and defeat them ? Iam only at a loss to know how I 
can take this matter so lightly, when you, a great scholar, 
— and, brother tells me the most learned man in the Uni- 
versity — seem to be quite terrified ? You look so pale and 
sick — you excite my profoundest sympathy.” 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ROSES. 


77 


“Oh, Miss Flora !” cried Ephraim, and pressed her 
hand. 

“ Is it love that makes you sick ? But love is not a 
disease, and upon me it has the opposite effect* All the 
morning I had some foreboding that you would come, 
and when you came, I was so glad. Ah, my dear doctor, 
if love is a pain for you, I pity you with all my heart ; 
but surely you cannot be the only one born on earth des- 
tined never to love.” 

“ Dearest Flora ! Dearest !” said Ephraim, melting 
away in gratitude. 

“ I will cheerfully do whatever you may order me to 
do,” she replied. “ If you wish it, I’ll never see you 
again, but I shall never cease to think of you — that is 
impossible for me ! I shall never let you see me again, 
for it is better for you to live without love than to die 
because I love you !” 

“ Oh, no, no ! that was not my meaning !” 

“ Well, then,” she said, passing her hand over her eyes, 
for she did not quite trust her tears, “ then we must see 
if there is not perhaps some other way to recover ? 
Your remedy is too doleful. Propose another, and put 
a little more confidence in your little Flora.” 

With these words she had gently seized Ephraim’s 
hand, and before he knew what had happened, he held 
her frail little figure in his arms and pressed his burning 
lips on the red lips of the philosopher-maiden. 

A strange thing happened. Ephraim had always and 
everywhere maintained that the greatest misfortune that 
could befall him would be the loss of his clear mind and 
the drowning of his reason in the waters of logic, and 
now, when this calamity really befell him, under Flora’s 
kisses and in her soft arms, he felt by no means such 
depth of misery. 

In most tender conversation, often interrupted by a 


78 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ROSES. 


flood of kisses, which, however, never broke the connec- 
tion, they sat there a long time in sweetest, closest 
embrace, in the dark niche of roses under the cozy old 
roof. Her golden curls hung over his brow and his short 
black hair ; his lips burnt on her cheeks, on her eyes, and 
on her tiny hands, which playfully tried to catch hold of 
his. In the meantime, however, events went on in the 
lower part of the house, and soon made it impossible for 
the two happy ones to remain sitting up there in united 
bliss forever. However interesting the fox was, and 
although the inspection of all the out-buildings, with the 
cows and horses and dogs in their stables and kennels, 
had taken up many hours, still the time for supper 
approached, and the forester’s helpmeet concluded her 
work in kitchen and cellar by having the table set before 
the house, where the' last rays of the sun still afforded 
light enough. 

With a loud voice she summoned her guests, and her 
call startled also the loving pair in their dark but bliss- 
ful solitude. No searching eyes, no indiscreet question 
annoyed the two as they timidly descended. The for- 
ester’s wife had too important cares to attend to to be 
grieved if four lips met behind her back and gave rise 
to a slight explosion. What could it be ? The husband, 
again, was too busy with his pupils and subordinates, as 
well as his dogs, to do more than to entertain his rational 
guests. The young people had, of course, noticed the 
disappearance of Ephriam and Flora, but were too wise 
to interfere with other people’s enjoyment. 

On the snow-white table-cloth, with a forester’s device 
woven in the centre, stood delicious brown bread, steam- 
ing hot ; new, yellow forest butter ; rosy ham with white 
edges on green parsley, cold haunch of venison, pre- 
served fruit and early new fruit — at the same time in 
tall goblets the golden juice of the native grape, made 


UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ROSES. 


79 


by the forester’s people, and kept in his own cellar. It 
was still light enough to see distinctly how well the 
things looked that tasted so well — and yet the- gloaming 
lent a peculiar, familiar charm to the meal which the 
midday sun never affords. Ephraim sat opposite Flora 
and felt in heaven. Every one of her looks, every one of 
her gestures was but for him. She smiled as she raised 
her glass, and he knew she was drinking his health. At 
first he had been very quiet, sunk in the memory of his 
recent happiness, but soon the lively spirits that ani- 
mated all around, roused him also, the good wine in the 
glass enlivened his tongue, and he became once more 
the gayest of table companions. Neither the witty stu- 
dent nor the cunningly slow cousin could compete with 
him in funny stories and in witty anecdotes, so that all 
wondered again at the immensely clever young man, who 
a few hours before had sat facing the bottle and never 
saying a word. 

And now the hour came for the return. The two 
young cousins naturally chose their well-known young 
friends, and thus it came as a matter of course that 
Ephraim had to escort little Flora. They went into the 
house to fetch wraps and cloaks, pipes and canes, shawls 
and umbrellas, and Ephraim proved most skillful. It 
was he who found Flora’s little fichu in the dark, and 
when he put it on her shoulders, he did it so carefully 
that the timid maid found time to turn round and to 
offer him her lips over her shoulder. 

Cordial thanks were given for the hospitable entertain- 
ment, and the forester’s hand and his wife’s were cordially 
shaken — till they felt it. They were singing in subdued 
tones as soon as they entered the forest ; the dogs added 
their barking, and the soft air of the woods blew caress- 
ingly around the brown old house in its hospitality, when 
the three pairs, arm in arm, crossed the threshold. 


80 


IN THE BOSOM OF THE HAPPY FAMILY. 


Fresh and fast they marched along down into the 
valley in the direction of Heidelberg, and it was worthy 
of admiration that Ephraim and Flora did not stumble 
once over the gnarled roots, nor fell down any of the 
numerous abysses by the way-side. It is true they sup- 
ported each other mutually, closely clinging one to the 
other, and Eros was their protector. 


CHAPTER VII. 

IN THE BOSOM OF THE HAPPY FAMILY. 

The wife — she preferred being called “the lady” — of 
the Member of the Imperial Diet and Bank President 
Comet, was crouching, in an old dress of purple silk, 
which she meant to utilize in the morning hours, on an 
old, worn-out, brick-red sofa, casting up accounts in a 
huge household book that was lying open before her on 
the breakfast table. The yellow strings of an old full- 
dress bonnet fell from the uncombed head upon the 
pages covered with ciphers. 

Opposite her sat a young girl, beautiful in face and 
figure, whose graceful carriage and choice costume formed 
a striking contrast to her mother’s negligent appearance. 
Her well-shaped head, her delicate features, her large 
black eyes with the beautifully traced eyebrows, her rosy 
lips forming the classic bow, and her mass of rich, fanci- 
fully arranged hair, all bespoke great wealth, supporting 
Nature’s choicest gifts. Her movements were graceful 
and elegant, and the whole impression she produced was 
that of a well-bred, clever young lady. 

But the lack of harmony between mother and daugh- 





FLORA SAT THERE PERFECTLY UNCONCERNED. SiX Page ob. 



82 


IN THE BOSOM OF THE HAPPY FAMILY. 


ter seemed not to stop there, but to extend to the room also. 
It was high and large and well furnished. The floor was 
inlaid wood, the ceiling frescoed, and the hangings of 
green velvet with narrow gold bands. The furniture, 
however, seemed to consist of specimens of every age and 
every nation on earth, some of the pieces being in 
wretched condition, faded, worn-out, broken or defaced. 
The great statesman’s “lady ” had bought them in the 
early days of their wedded life, and had never been able 
to part with them since. Thus it came about that some 
chairs were of walnut, others of mahogany, some covered 
with sadly faded blue cloth, others with rich gold bro- 
cade. A flower-stand, overgrown with ivy, would have 
given some rest to the weary eye, but alas ! no flowering 
plants were there, and the immense Aquarium, once the 
glory of the room, was now filled with dim, dirty water, 
without a living being. In spite of the almost disgusting 
and disgraceful condition of this room, it was the favor- 
ite place of Mrs. Comet, who preferred it to all and any 
of the really superbly furnished rooms of the mansion. 
Strangely enough, she felt well and happy here in the 
midst of this disorderly and untidy collection of second- 
hand articles, as she also infinitely preferred her anti- 
quated and thoroughly worn-out dresses to the elegant and 
fashionable costumes which Worth and others masters 
of that ilk sent her upon her husband’s orders. Light, 
harmony and brilliancy were to her as acceptable and 
pleasant as light may be to a bat. 

Mrs. Rachel, as the servants had gotten into a habit 
of calling their mistress, before .the Comet had risen to 
the zenith, cherished that genuine love for small and 
petty things which so often accompanies wealth ac- 
quired by speculation. And yet she felt real reverence 
for this wealth. At the same time her naturally very 
strong mind, and her truly good nature made her on one 


IN THE BOSOM OF THE HAPPY FAMILY. 


83 


hand fond of intellectual discussions and on the other 
anxious to help the poor and to watch over the home- 
budget. Her one great aim in life was, just now, to edu- 
cate her children for the highest social positions that 
might be attainable. She studied Adam Smith and 
Malthus, whom she kn^jv through her erudite brother, 
the professor, and never saw the stains in her carpets 
nor the tears and rents in her velvet curtains and eastern 
portieres, nor even the monstrous character of her own 
toilet. When the great man, her husband, proposed — as 
he often did — to move the old worthless furniture out of 
sight, she called him a spendthrift, who invested his 
money in unsafe funds on superfluous articles, instead of 
saving it for a rainy day. She reproached him for not 
being able to appreciate a thrifty wife, not knowing what 
a blessing she was, who did not strut about in silk and 
satin, in gold and costly jewels, but modestly and simply 
lived in a style which even a mechanic’s wife might look 
down upon. At this moment she was busy comparing 
the state of her pantry with the butcher’s and the green 
grocer’s bills that were lying before her. 

“ Why do you wear your fine plaid dress in the house, 
Sylvia ?” she asked. 

Miss Sylvia, with her keen black eyes, looked coldly 
at her mother, continued her embroidery, and said in a 
sharp voice : 

“ Do you want me to wear it in the street, or at the 
Subscription Ball ?” 

The mother sighed and made no reply ; she was busily 
counting the eggs that had been consumed during the 
month. 

“ We cannot go on this way any longer,” she complained. 
“ The waste is too great. How can it be — only six score 
in the pantry ! Who eats them all ? Can the servants 
have access to the place ?” And thus she went on and 


84 


IN THE BOSOM OF THE HAPPY FAMILY. 


on, interrupted only by deep sighs, till the daughter 
calmly said : “I cannot comprehend, mamma, how you 
can be so ! You know, of course, that in a house like this, 
where domestic expenses count by thousands, a saving of 
a few dollars in eggs or butter can be of no earthly 
importance. And still you keep on saving the pennies ! 
How could you come to think of counting the eggs ? 
With twenty or twenty-five servants in the house — worth- 
less enough I admit — what can a few dozen eggs be to 
you in comparison? You economize in the table, and 
the consequence is that papa very rarely takes a meal at 
home. You save a dollar and papa dines for ten else- 
where !” 

Mrs. Rachel was distressed ; she felt her daughter’s 
want of filial love deeply, but had not the energy to face 
her boldly. She looked up to her own children because 
they were so much more highly cultivated than she was, 
and felt especially a certain dread of Sylvia’s great ele- 
gance and haughty carriage. It was rarely only that her 
anger broke forth, as now : 

“ Oh ! oh !” she said, “ you are aiming high, my poor 
little doll. You will find that out when you are your 
dear Frank’s wife, a poor architect — I assure you I feel 
sorry for both of you !” 

Sylvia shrugged her shoulders. Mrs. Comet was in 
specially good humor to-day, for this was the day when 
her tailor came. He came only once a week, but he 
brought perfect bliss in his cartons and boxes. Mrs. 
Comet used to begin her lamentations the evening before, 
pitying herself that she had to make her few dresses her- 
self, and that, with the assistance of a rude person who 
knew nothing himself, and to whom she had first to show 
what to do ! And when he had left, and she examined 
what he had done, then the whole task had to be turned 
over once more and altered, till she was “ dead beat ” and 


IN THE BOSOM OF THE HAPPY FAMILY. 


85 


tired. Other wives fared a great deal better. She did 
not believe there was a lady of her years and social posi- 
tion who was as modest as she was. For long years her 
husband had ceased to make any reply to these reproaches. 
He had learned by bitter experience that all he could 
say served only, like oil poured on a fire, to increase 
the conflagration. In fact, these meetings with the fa- 
mous man-tailor had become a want and an enjoyment 
for the good lady. He was the only person on God’s earth 
with whom she felt genuine sympathy. They had known 
each other nearly forty years, from the time when he, a 
Parisian, had first appeared in Berlin, opened his “ Mag- 
azine ” — “ store,” was too plebeian for M. Grand Poulet — 
and sought her patronage. She reaped her reward now, 
and the bread cast upon the waters so long ago came back 
to her now a hundred fold. She had friends and acquain- 
tances in the highest circles, as many as she chose to have, 
for all paid court to the eminent statesman’s eccentric 
wife. But all that she could discuss with these people 
and their wives and daughters, had little charm foi^he 
poor woman, and nobody made her feel this more keen- 
ly than her own child, Sylviai Her beautiful black eyes 
rested contemptuously on the poor old lady, and she did 
not deem it worth while to say anything more. She 
took lessons in singing, and her physician had advised 
her, to counteract an attack of laryngitis, to eat every 
morning a yolk of an egg, beaten up with brown sugar 
and Madeira. Every morning a slight skirmish took 
place on this subject, for the mother refused to surrender 
the key to the pantry where the precious sugar was stored 
away. She always hoped to be able to break her daugh- 
ter’s stubborn will by perseverance. She insisted upon 
it that the yolk was bad for the throat, that the physician 
was an ignoramus, and that she herself had never eaten 
such a thing, nor suffered of hoarseness in all her life. 


86 


IN THE BOSOM OF THE HAPPY FAMILY. 


But Sylvia was of the same flesh and blood as her mo- 
ther, and possessed the same tenacity. The more difficul- 
ties her path showed, the better she liked it, and she 
never allowed a morning to come that she did not de- 
mand her egg ! To-day, also, the war broke out as 
usual, and ended with Sylvia’s triumph. Mrs. Comet 
drew the key from her pocket, handed it to her daughter 
with the admonition to return it, and then Sylvia went 
away. 

“ Where is my key ?” asked the mother. 

“ Pshaw ! Your wretched old keys,” replied the duti- 
ful daughter. “ In the door where it belongs,” she 
added. But Mrs. Comet did not think so, and made 
herself so disagreeable, that Sylvia, with all her pride 
and stubbornness, had to go and bring the key. She 
came back with quick, violent steps, threw the key with 
a gesture of contempt at her mother’s feet, and went out 
of the room. 

But the old lady had her sweet revenge. A letter came 
for Sylvia ; it was written by Mr. Frank, the young 
engineer to whom she was engaged, but who was too 
poor as yet to marry her. Now Mrs. Comet’s feelings 
for poverty were curiously divided. 

Her heart loved the poor, but her mind despised them. 
Thus she despised also her brother, Doctor Steelyard, 
and his whole family. She even despised in this sense, 
her own husband. She could not forgive him for having 
married her when she was so poor. That was such folly 
that, after that, she had no more confidence in his judg- 
ment, although he was now a millionaire. On the same 
account she was violently opposed to her daughter Syl- 
via’s engagement with Mr. Frank, the poor architect. 
She had not been able to prevent the engagement, but 
she was determined not to consent to their marriage. 


A CUNNING BRIDE. 


87 


Sylvia, she thought, was such a clever girl — she would 
surely come to her senses before the appointed day. 

Her husband had been half inclined to consent to the 
match. He had enough to pay his daughter a handsome 
allowance without impoverishing his two sons. But 
Mrs. Rachel had so far prevented a day to be fixed, rep- 
resenting to him that it would be better for all of them 
to wait till Frank should have an independent position, 
and thus be able to support a wife. “ That they will 
never accomplish,” she said to herself. Frank was far 
too simple ever to succeed in life. But in the truly won- 
derfully constructed character of this strange woman, 
another element came and claimed attention. This same 
Frank had such a truly winsome, open heart, that she had 
learned to love him, and now she persuaded herself that 
this love wished her to save him from the union with 
Sylvia, which, she told herself, never could turn out well. 
“As long as he is what he now is,” she said to herself, 
“a harmless, truly good lad, I will not let him fall a vic- 
tim to a scourge like Sylvia. 0 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A CUNNING BRIDE. 

On the same forenoon on which Mrs. Rachel was think - 
ing over the fine dress which she was to wear on the 
occasion of a great fete which was to take place at the 
end of the week, Sylvia also had a serious interview with 
her betrothed. 

His visits were not frequent, because he knew he was 
pot a welcome visitor here, and thus Sylvia generally let 


88 


A CUNNING BRIDE. 

him know when and where he might meet her. She put 
on her sealskin coat, then the cap to match, and for the 
benefit of curious observers, she took a large red morocco 
portfolio with her golden monogram, which held her 
music, ordered a cab and drove to the entrance to the park. 
Near the magnificent city-gate she dismissed the cab and 
walked resolutely through the gate, while a sharp rain 
beat her straight in the face, and small, fleecy clouds 
chased each other on high. A young man, a Rembrandt 
hat on his light curls, and in a short blue coat after the 
latest pattern, came to meet her with joy in his face. 
She held his hand for a time in her’s, looked at him, and 
with a sigh, she said : “ Ah, how fair you are !” 

He threw back his head, laughed aloud and said : 
“Oh, you little darling fool !” 

Then he replaced the broad-brimmed hat which he had 
held in his hand during this affectionate meeting, took 
the red portfolio under his arm, drew Sylvia’s arm under 
his own, and aided her to make her way through the 
crowd of carriages till they safely reached the trees of 
the glorious old park. 

“Are you not a genuine little fool ?” he said. “How 
can you, enchanting being as you are, you modern model 
of classic grace, telLan uncouth animal of my calibre that 
he is fair? Do you mean to destroy the one good thing 
that I thought I had in me, my modesty, as you have 
done with everything else, you heartless, unloving siren ?” 

“ Oh, Edward !” she cried, “if you would speak a little 
less students’ slang !” But in spite of the reproof, she 
looked at him with genuine delight — for he was indeed 
fair to look at. 

He was tall and lithe, small in the loins, broad in the 
shoulders and of a powerful chest. His face, browned 
and bronzed in Italy, shone with its piercing blue eyes, 
while a light down only curled on his upper lip and chin 


A CUNNING BRIDE. 


without concealing the graceful outlines. Something 
exquisitely sweet and gentle, combined with manful 
courage, gave him an expression as rare as it was attrac- 
tive. His face seemed to offer to every new-comer a fund 
of good will and ready trust, and thus elicited the same 
kindness and confidence in others. This irresistible 
charm, with such great beauty of form, had won Sylvia’s 
heart, and made her resolved to encourage, in spite of all 
the difficulties she clearly foresaw, the young architect, till 
he ventured to ask for her hand. He was, of course, no 
match for the daughter of the great statesman, the mil- 
lionaire, who might have chosen among many richer men 
in more brilliant position. 

She clung affectionately to him, and arm in arm they 
walked slowly through the long green avenues, amid 
merry sallies. Gradually, however, the words became 
weightier, the tones graver. 

“ My sweetest Sylvia,” he said, “ how long shall we con- 
tinue to live in this half concealed mummery? Does 
your father still refuse to give his consent, and must 
I really not see you at your own house? Look, dar- 
ling dear, I am tired of single life, my lonely room is 
a prison-cell to me. Every hour, every minute, I long 
for you. I think we had better marry before old age 
creeps on us both !” , 

Sylvia smiled. “ And how very old are you already ?”' 

“You cannot imagine how old I am, my Sylvia. I 
have seen twenty-eight years.” 

“ To be sure — what a hoary old age !” 

“ Yes ; and yesterday I saw a home — as if it had been 
made for us and us alone on all this earth. It lies a little 
apart, you know where we saw the other day the new 
plantations just outside the city ? Now listen and you 
will see how nice everything is ! In the middle a large 
room with three windows — that might be a reception- 


90 


A CUNNING BRIDE. 


room ; on one side a smaller room — your boudoir ; on 
the other, my study. Next to these, two spacious bed- 
rooms with all the conveniences of our day ; the same 
up-stairs for him ; you know for whom. Guest cham- 
bers, two, for we must not be extravagant. A small 
garden, a well, even a watch-dog ; in short, everything 
heart could wish, is there. I can get it for a song and 
for a capital reason. It has not yet been painted, and the 
owner, who is something of a Maecenas of the Fine Arts, 
wants me to add certain improvements, a loggia, some 
balconies and the like, for which I have promised him my 
personal assistance. He gives me the house in pure 
white. I paint him his walls and ceilings. You shall 
have a Pompeiian room, all red on black, fantastic crea- 
tures, divine landscapes, between columns adorned with 
creeping, clinging plants ; the salon — But you are laugh- 
ing, my Sylvia. By Jupiter, I am in earnest — ” 

“ How your imagination runs away with you, Edward,” 
she said, gracefully and merrily shaking her head. 
“ Foolish as it is, I love to hear you.” 

“Oh, Sylvia mine ! Do not call it foolish,” he replied, 
with a serious face. “I have a decided wish soon to get 
married. I figure to myself the bliss of living at your 
side in our modest little home, and sustained by you to 
create beautiful works in my profession ! There is noth- 
ing in this that you should dare call foolish.” 

Sylvia hung her lovely little head. The picture she 
formed to herself of their future was very different from 
Edward Frank’s wishes and anticipations. At times she 
succeeded in painting happiness in a cottage quite poet- 
ically, especially when it was a cottage in the Tropics, 
and she, in her transparent gauze garment, swinging 
gently to and fro in her hammock, overshadowed by 
gigantic palm trees, was eating delicious bananas, while 
her Edward in his broad-brimmed Panama hat and his 


A CUNNING BRIDE. 


91 


costume of raw silk, brought her a tiger skin from his 
last hunt, and bright-colored humming birds darted to 
and fro across the landscape like so many living jewels. 
But her bliss in its reality, in Berlin, must be very different. 
It must have, for its foundation, an elegant mansion in 
the most fashionable part of town, with a spacious garden 
behind, and a square court-yard, with a noble entrance- 
gate in gilt bronze in front of the house. Carpets, sofas, 
curtains and portieres, all of the latest art and material, 
an experienced, grave-looking butler, lackeys in gold- 
laced and gorgeous liveries, under a head and several under 
stewards ; a French maid, well skilled in all the mysteries 
of a Rachel or a Ristori ; a sober coachman or two, with 
Irish grooms, and two footmen six and a-half feet high, 
and with regulation calves. The house must assemble 
the best society, that Berlin had never yet been clever 
enough to harmonize in any genuine salon, like that of 
the Recamier or Mme. Adams. She wanted to see the 
statesmen of the Empire and the generals and great cap- 
tains of the age in a circle around her, while genial 
painters stood about in graceful attitudes, leaning on the 
mantel-pieces, and vied with each other who could paint 
Sylvia’s beauty most successfully, whilst on her two 
grand pianos — by Broadbent and Beckstein — artists of 
European celebrity played Liszt’s last compositions or 
accompanied Sylvia when she sang, “Oh, thou my soul, 
my only soul.” Bold and brave officers, whose dazzling 
uniforms and brilliant accoutrements contrasted wonder- 
fully with the copper-colored, gold-stamped leather hang- 
ings on the walls, looked around to be able to tell their 
aristocratic friends and relatives how far the splendor of 
Mrs. Sylvia Frank’s apartments surpassed the richest of 
their exclusive but old-fashioned houses. And, to crown 
the whole, she saw her husband, an Apollo in manly 
beauty, a semper of world-wide fame who was besought 


92 


A CUNNING BRIDE. 


and implored to build a mansion for a millionaire here, a 
castle for a count there, a palace for the Emperor himself, 
and to erect a Victoria column in many realms ; demands 
which kept him busy for long, long hours, but also made 
perfect streams of gold pour into his coffers, and enabled 
Sylvia to spend as she chose. 

She did not like her husband’s modest pretensions, and 
wished to rouse him to higher aspirations. 

“Dear Edward,” she said, after a pause, “I am sure 
under such circumstances, papa will not give his con- 
sent.” 

“And what circumstances does he require in order to 
give it ?” 

“Don’t get angry, dear Edward, but papa says, ‘Ed- 
ward might, if he chose, do an enormous business. He 
is very talented, very industrious. I could give him 
letters, and he could, in a short time, become a very 
famous architect. But — ’ ” 

“But?” asked Edward, blushing all over. 

“ ‘ But,’ says papa, ‘ it is remarkable. Edward does not 
do anything solid — his income is problematic. He is too 
genial, too proud. How do I know — in short, I cannot 
give him my daughter until he is in such a position that 
I can let my child go to him without anxiety for the 
daily bread.’ ” 

The beautiful and dutiful daughter of this wise father 
thereupon enlarged on his views, representing his pecul- 
iar character and his eccentricities in the most touching 
manner, dwelling upon his great love for his daughter 
and his well-founded anxiety for her welfare. She inter- 
mingled with great skill and cunning, flattering compli- 
ments, so that the betrothed never could feel hurt. The 
result was this : the millionare would, of course, endow 
his daughter richly and suitably, but would not do it by 
actual donation, unless the son-in-law was able to show 


A CUNNING BRIDE. 


93 


by his success in his art that he was also a good man of 
business. 

Edward Frank listened with perfect composure, but 
the cause of this calmness was not such as Sylvia could 
have wished. The fact was that his sense of beauty was 
so fully developed, and his sense of humor at the same 
time so powerful, that he soon commenced to admire 
the lively play of the features of the beautiful girl, her 
caressing and cajoling manners, her dark eyes and the 
merry play of lips and hands, and totally forgot the 
purport of her words, and her false reasoning, as it 
seemed to him. 

He had the most exalted conception of his art, and 
was full of the conviction that the artist was a priest of 
beauty. He was determined never to sacrifice the small- 
est item of his principles for the sake of favor, money or 
applause, and it appeared to him simply impossible that 
he should ever do anything else but worship the beauti- 
ful. 

He was, besides, young in years, of unbending energy, 
and had just returned from Rome, where he had led an 
ideal life, in perfect freedom, surrounded by the calm 
grandeur of gone-by centuries ! He felt his dignity as a 
man and felt unconsciously that man ought to bind 
woman unto him, but never allow her, in all greater 
and higher questions, to warp his mind, or to weaken his 
resolves. 

“ Sylvia,” he said at last, as she was silent for a time, 
and then looked at him, inquiring, “ if you really love 
me as I love you, you will find it, I think, an easy task 
to overcome all these difficulties of which you speak. 
Your father was not cast in bronze and is not carved out 
of marble. Our income is ready at hand. I can count 
upon an annual income that will enable us to live mod- 
estly, in the manner that is the best, the only happy one 


94 


A CUNNING BRIDE. 


for true lovers. We are richer than the whole world, if 
we love each other, and we are greater than all princes, 
when our friends are Raphael, Michael Angelo, Cor- 
nelius, Le Due and Virgil and Horace and Homer.” 

“ If those are to be our only friends — oh, Edward, that 
was not kind in you !” she said, sharply. 

A painful sensation pierced his heart. 

“ Sylvia !” he cried. 

She looked down and played in the sand with the 
point of her shoe, then she raised her eyes again to him, 
and he saw they were full of tears. 

Sylvia had one brother, who was a lieutenant in a 
crack regiment of hussars, and another brother who had 
studied law and was now attached to a legation abroad ; 
she also had an older sister who had married a major in 
the army. These brothers and the sister had nice friends, 
well-bred, high-standing and cultivated people, so that 
it was rather hard for Sylvia to think that she was to 
live in a suburb, in a small, unfinished house, and to 
have no intercourse but such as Edward had mentioned. 
When he saw her tears, his heart softened, and he feared 
he had spoken rather roughly. 

“ Pardon me,” he said, “ my dearest Sylvia, and come 
to my heart !” With these words he kissed her tears 
from her eyes. As he noticed that his kisses had a good 
effect, he continued the treatment, and began at the same 
time to speak of all and every petty matter he could 
think of and thus led her thoughts into another channel. 

But he knew Sylvia’s character very imperfectly if he 
fancied he had entirely changed her views. There was 
not a tree in the whole grand park so deeply rooted as 
Sylvia’s plan of having a splendid existence, and the del- 
icate, soft cheeks, the bright eyes, and the elegant, well- 
bred manners of the young lady, covered a tenacious 
obstinacy, of which Edward had but a very imperfect 


A CUNNING BRIDE. 


95 


conception, if he thought it would and could ever yield 
to love. 

She loved Edward — there was no doubt of that — but 
she loved him in her own way. He was to be the hus- 
band she wanted. The only question was : Could she 
bend him so that he fitted into her model ? Both were 
reflecting, as they returned, driven home by the rain 
from the fresh, green park into the desert of stone and 
brick, and both were more silent than usual. When 
Edward returned to his bachelor’s home, he looked 
sighing around, and said : 

“And thus it must remain for the present, I see.” 

He paused before a plaster of Paris model, whose 
garment was pale blue, while the hair was like pale 
gold. 

“ I wish Sylvia could wear your Greek costume, you 
old Greek maid — how beautiful that would be! No 
fashion and no furniture ! Oh, Sylvia, I wish you did 
not have that rich father, but could walk with me bare- 
footed through the streets of Athens !” With these 
impractical thoughts he went to a large blank canvas on 
an easel, and sketched Sylvia’s likeness as a Greek maid. 
But he could not satisfy himself. 

He reflected upon the beautiful, and the aesthetic lec- 
tures to which he had listened on the subject, but it was 
all in vain. His thoughts forever returned to Sylvia and 
the glimpse of her heart she had to-day allowed him to 
catch — for a purpose. 


96 


THE FAIR WEAPON. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE FAIR WEAPON. 

Among the artistic works in which Edward Frank was 
now engaged, the most important, to him, was the 
re-building of a wing and the decoration of a magnifi- 
cent dining-room in the castle of a Baron Rosen. He 
had been there a few days after his unprofitable conver- 
sation with Sylvia, to inspect the building, and was 
returning late, traveling third-class to spare his slender 
purse. He was in good humor, for the baron had shown 
great artistic culture, such as he had till now rarely met 
among his patrons, and he had determined, in order to 
show his appreciation, to add, as a present, some very 
valuable frescoes to the dining-room. He was deeply 
absorbed in these thoughts and had paid but little atten- 
tion to his traveling companions, when he became sud- 
denly aware of a female figure in the opposite corner, 
which attracted him by bearing a faint, fleeting likeness 
to Sylvia. 

It was dim inside, for the lamp burnt badly, and be- 
sides, only a small part of the young woman’s face could 
be made out between her veil and her shawls ; still, cer- 
tain lines about mouth and nose reminded Edward so 
strongly of his betrothed that he could no longer re- 
strain his curiosity. She seemed to be quite young, and 
Edward, with the instinct of a true artist, divined a beauti- 
ful form under the plain and unbecoming costume, a 
printed calico and an ordinary hat and veil. 

From this girl his eye at once was drawn to two per- 
sons who were evidently the girl’s companions, and who 
looked to him very peculiar, a man and a woman. Their 


THE FAIR WEAPON. 


97 

appearance was calculated to excite mistrust. The man 
was a sturdy, thick-set fellow, dressed in a loud plaid from 
head to foot, with a crimson cravat, coarse, vulgar hands 
with an abundance of rings, and a downright wicked 
face. He seemed to consider himself very elegant and 
quite as cunning. He admired his rings from time to time, 
and winked at his wife with a cunning leer. She was an 
ugly old creature in fashionable clothes, but with a face 
which made Frank, who was no novice, shudder, and 
think that it was probably no stranger to any crime that 
could be committed. Edward, however, paid but little at- 
tention to the three passengers, except that gradually — 
he could not tell how nor why — there came to his mind 
a conviction that this girl was kept in a kind of captiv- 
ity or coercion by the two ill-looking persons. She sat 
silent and sad in her corner, never looking up, while her 
two companions every now and then, after looking at 
her, exchanged a few words with each other. 

Not a word, however, could he hear till in Berlin, when 
they got out of the train, the girl seemed to make some 
resistance. Edward heard as he was going away, how 
the old woman threatened the girl, and actually thought 
he understood the man to say, that he could easily knock 
the fool on her head. His kind heart made him stop 
a moment and look back. He saw the man seize the 
girl’s arm and drag hef along, while the woman walked 
behind her as if to cut off the retreat. Edward, however, 
noticed that the girl, as she passed close by him, cast 
an anxious, beseeching look at him, seeking assistance. 

He told himself that evidently some wrong was at- 
tempted here and determined to follow the strange com- 
pany. It was late now, nearly night, and few people in 
the streets. The way they took led into a remote region, 
and Edward felt more than once like leaving them to 
their fate, but for one thing : at a place somewhat lighter 


98 THE FAIR WEAPON. 

than the narrow streets through which they had so far 
passed, the girl suddenly stopped and looked around. The 
man dragged her at once forward, but Edward saw in 
this act of the girl’s, a silent appeal to his chivalry, a ray 
of hope that he might come to her rescue. 

After having followed the remarkable trio some dis- 
tance, they at last made a halt. They were in a part of 
Eastern Berlin which was so new that it was not even 
lighted up yet with gas. Evidently they had reached the 
end of their journey, but Edward, who had drawn nearer, 
saw distinctly that the girl strongly objected to entering 
the house. He heard a tearful, beseeching voice, and a 
screeching, as he suspected from the toothless mouth of 
the old witch. In an instant he was in their midst, and 
asked what was the matter. 

“ Blows for them that meddle,” said a coarse, scorn- 
ful voice. “ Oh, my friend, it takes two where blows are 
given !” 

The girl had, at Edward’s question, torn herself loose 
from the old man, had run up to Edward, and was now 
clinging to his arm. The big, burly man followed her, 
pushed the girl back*, and seized her, saying : 

“ The devil may be your friend ! I am not ! Go your 
way, or — ” 

“ At the place I come from,” said Edward, calmly, “we 
have a proverb which says, ‘ A rude answer fits a rude 
question.’ ” With these words he drew the girl behind 
him and dealt the man a blow into the face, that he 
measured his length on the sidewalk, and the blood came 
running from his mouth and nose. The woman ran 
shrieking to the nearest house door and began to batter 
it with her fists, and to ring the bell furiously. 

“Now be quick !” Edward said to the girl, drew her 
arm through his own and hurried away as ' fast as he 
could. After a long course in a part of the city remote 


THE FAIR WEAPON. 


99 


from the scene of the little drama they stopped at last, 
badly exhausted and out of breath. After awhile Edward 
asked the girl where he should take her now, and under 
whose roof she would seek shelter. To his great dismay, 
she told him that she did not know herself. She was a 
perfect stranger in Berlin, had never seen the city, having 
neither friend nor relative here, except the ugly old hag 
and the man in the plaid, whom he had just now stretched 
out on the ground. 

Edward was greatly embarrassed, but the girl’s soft, 
timid voice, her tears and her manifest hopelessness, all 
combined, filled him with such pity that he took her 
straight to his own rooms. On the way, however, he did 
not say a word, but meditated what he was to do with 
this Heaven-sent maid ? The girl followed him in perfect 
silence, mounted the staircase behind him, and remained 
standing before his door while he lit the hanging-lamp. 

“Well, my dear child,” he said at last, “take off your 
cloak, make yourself comfortable here and let us talk.” 

Obediently she put down her ugly large cloak, as well 
as bonnet and veil, and a knit shawl that had kept her 
neck warm, and Edward now saw, not without great 
astonishment and no slight embarrassment, a marvelously 
beautiful woman before him, whose motions seemed to 
have been taught by the Graces themselves, and whose 
face bore the imprint of heavenly innocence. In fact her 
purity had something more than human about it ; her 
eyes looked clear and bright into the world, and only the 
halo was wanting to reach one of Giotto’s virgins. Her 
dark violet eyes were beaming with pure, childlike love, 
andherhajr, dusted with gold and blonde like Gretchen’s, 
fell in large braids down her shoulders. 

Timid and with folded hands, as if craving pardon, 
she remained standing near the chair on which she had 
put her things. These hands w?re not without traces of 


100 


THE FAIR WEAPON. 


hard work, but Edward saw at a glance that they were as 
beautifully shaped as the whole slender and yet full body. 

Edward was bitterly embarrassed. His first thoughts 
were of Sylvia ; he knew she would never think it proper 
that a well-educated and betrothed young man should 
take a strange and fair woman to his rooms. Yet he felt 
as if he could not be more cruel than the Bedouin of the 
Desert who dare not refuse hospitality even to his mor- 
tal enemy. He forgot the wise words he had meant to 
speak, and mindful of the long journey and the hurried 
walk, he went in search of a bottle of Falernian wine, 
some bread and a dish of figs, and the first pears in the 
market, and invited the girl to share with him his light 
refreshments. She followed his directions quite 
obediently, but not in any lowly style — on the contrary, 
rather like a king’s daughter, who, pursued by cruel fate, 
trusts the noble knight in whose hands she has fallen. 
The deep blue eyes observed keenly the polychromes, 
the sketches and the canvas on the easel, and then 
returned again, looking bashfully and yet trustingly at 
the open countenance of the young painter. He filled 
two shallow drinking vessels, raised his on high, and 
exclaimed : “To the great gods !” and then poured a few 
drops on the ground. The girl looked at him with the 
utmost astonishment, and then a charming smile flitted 
across her face, showing two little dimples in her rosy, 
round cheeks. This smile had a wonderful effect on Ed- 
ward. It was like a ray of the sun. “ By Jupiter !” he 
said to himself, “ she is a brighter girl than I should have 
expected to meet with in the streets of Berlin.” 

With a good appetite, but saying few words, the two 
disposed of their frugal supper. Edward hesitated to ask 
her any questions which might have appeared unkind, or 
could have broken the charm. She, on the other hand, 
hardly ever looked upland only now and then cast a 


THE FAIR WEAPON. 


101 


glance of doubt and admiration at him. A stranger even 
could have read in her eyes that she was amazed at find- 
ing herself in company with a young man who belonged 
to a class of which she had probably till now never seen 
a member. 

In the meantime the Falernian seemed to have had 
some effect on Edward’s mind, for suddenly it occurred 
to him that, as usual, there was a ray of hope also in this 
dark night of doubt and uncertainty. 

“My dear child,” he said, pulling out his watch, “this 
is the hour of ghosts and goblins, but it will soon be 
over, and then it will be too late to provide a shelter for 
yourself during the night. There is a chance in the 
neighborhood for an arrangement. Excuse me a little 
while. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

While speaking purposely in such vague terms, he was 
thinking of a friend, a painter, who never failed to sit in 
a favorite restaurant over his cups till late, not in the 
night, but in the morning. This painter had a lovely and 
sensible wife, and his rooms were not far off. If this 
wine-bibbing painter should be too strictly ruled at home 
to enter upon his views, Edward proposed to spend the 
night with him, over another bottle or two, so as to defy 
slander with a good conscience. 

He went at once, and for safety’s sake locked 
the front door, lest his landlady should chance to make 
her way up-stairs and there make surprising discoveries. 

The friendly painter was found duly at his post, sit- 
ting in his unfailing chair, whence he enlightened a not 
very attentive audience with his views on the little com- 
plications of the East. Edward drew him aside, initi- 
ated him in a whisper, so that the other artists might not 
hear of his plan, and implored his assistance. 

“ You know my Philistine landlady,” he said ; “ she is 
an admirable dame. The good woman provides for the 


102 


THE FAIR WEAPON. 


future like the busy ant in the fable, but she has also 
trained her husband so admirably that he does not dare 
sneeze without her holding his head during the opera- 
tion. She also keeps a strict account of my out-goings 
and in-comings, and if I were to venture to keep a young 
girl in my studio, she would rouse half the city in wild 
rebellion. You, on the contrary, have a wife of your 
own, you have a family, and you can do it without giving 
offence.” 

The painter looked thoughtful. 

“A devilish bad story,” he said. “ My Kate is a very 
sensible woman ; you know her. She never makes a 
row if I return home very near morning, but — if I should 
bring a pretty girl home into the bargain ! It can’t be 
done, dear friend ! Try to carry the innocent child back 
again into the street — she will find somebody to take 
care of her.” 

“You are a blockhead,” whispered Edward, angrily, 
“ I was going to do you a great favor — to recommend 
you to Baron Rosen, who wants to have some more 
frescoes in his large dining-hall — but a man so uncon- 
genial I can never recommend.” 

“My good man,” replied the painter, shaking his 
head, “ you and I will pile up a million of troubles and 
annoyances on our innocent heads if we do that ! I 
give you my solemn assurance, I would rather carry 
home one of those nice little boxes which the Fenians 
try to smuggle on board British men-of-war, than your 
innocent, beautiful, strange girl of whom nobody can tell 
where she comes from or where she is going to. Does 
your baron pay decently ?” 

“ No, but nobly !” exclaimed Edward. “ He wants to 
have partridges, pheasants, grapes, melons, hock and 
what not in his still life. That is exactly your forte ; no 


THE FAIR WEAPON. 


103 


one paints as you do the golden sheen in the tall old 
German glasses. Come, we’ll fetch the girl !” 

“ Well, if it must be !” growled the painter. “ Man 
must make a fool of himself now and then, or he grows 
old before the time.” 

After the two gentlemen had started on their remark- 
able errand, and especially after the painter also had 
succumbed to the astonishing beauty of the mysterious 
stranger, enhanced by the pure and chaste expression of 
her features, which the artist instantly seized upon and 
fully appreciated, all went on swimmingly. In the 
painter’s house it so happened that there was a vacant 
room, in which a boarder had been lodged till a few days 
ago, and this was at once assigned to the girl, so that she 
could be installed there without rousing anybody else in 
the house. 

“ But mind,” said the painter very emphatically, “ to- 
morrow morning early I expect you to appear here as a 
witness of my integrity !” Then the door closed, and 
Edward prepared to return home. 

The thought of this girl disturbed his night’s repose. 
He now recalled the resemblance to Sylvia, which he 
had not noticed so much in her presence as when he 
tried accurately to recall her features. 

“Strange,” he said to himself, “all her ways are differ- 
ent from Sylvia’s. She is womanly all over, soft and 
gentle and winsome, while Sylvia has a certain manful 
determination and sternness. The resemblance must be 
purely physical, if my love to Sylvia does not make me 
see what is not ! At all events this girl’s Psyche must 
be strong enough to outweigh her physique, for as long 
as I sat looking at her, I never once thought of Sylvia !” 

He went as early as he thought he might venture, to 
see his friend. To his surprise he found, after having 
entered the house with great timidity, and not without 


104 


THE FAIR WEAPON. 


apprehension of a painful scene, a group assembled in 
the studio which showed only smiling faces. 

Before his easel Lehman the painter was sitting at 
work, with the strange girl as his model, and in the pres- 
ence of Mrs. Lehman. After a few words of hearty 
greeting and humorous explanation, he stepped up to the 
easel and from it looked at the girl whom he had res- 
cued. He was immensely struck again by her charming 
face, which appeared in daylight so much more richly 
colored than at night that he was surprised. The image 
which he had formed of her in his mind paled before the 
reality. A sweet blush and an imploring glance sent to 
him, seemed to ask his pardon that she had done some- 
thing without first having asked his leave, and at the 
same time gave utterance to a gratitude which went 
straight to Edward’s heart. 

She still wore the same costume as last night, without 
the slightest effort at adornment ; her golden hair was 
arranged in the simplest possible way around her head, 
which she carried nobly, but even thus, adorned with 
nothing but the gifts of Nature, Edward thought he had 
never seen a fairer model for Faust’s Gretchen. 

“ I am sure you call me a man bent upon his advan- 
tage ,” began the painter with an air of triumph. 

“Indeed,” replied Edward, “it looks as if we had 
brought you fame and money. I mean the Miss and 
her amiability.” 

“I bet,” said the painter, “there will be a rush and a 
fight for this model, for I have never had such beauty on 
my easel !” 

Edward was greatly embarrassed, and followed now 
the painter’s hand, and then the lines which that hand 
was copying from the girl’s lovely face. He could not 
find a word to open conversation, and hence was quite 
glad when Mrs. Lehman beckoned him to follow her to 


THE FAIR WEAPON. 


105 


an adjoining room. She had at once made friends with 
the girl and could tell him much of her life. 

The stranger’s name was Betty, she said, but no fam- 
ily name, nor had the poor girl ever known any parents. 
From her earliest infancy she had been in the hands of 
that woman, who had nursed her and then kept her under 
the name of Alma Sinclair, which she told her was her 
mother’s name. But the child had her reasons for doubt- 
ing these statements. She had been sent to school, and 
had been instructed in subjects which generally fell to 
the lot of more favored children only. At the same time, 
she had firmly held on to the few papers she possessed, 
especially when, after a while, her nurse had begun to 
lay domestic duties on her and make her perform menial 
services. Recently this nurse had been in a state of 
great excitement after receiving a letter, and soon after 
a man and a woman had come to take her away to Ber- 
lin. She had, from the beginning, mistrusted these peo- 
ple, who had always refused to give her the explanation 
to which she thought she was entitled, and made several 
efforts to escape. To her nurse she would not return — 
that was sure — but she wished very much to secure a 
position as help to an elderly or infirm lady, where she 
would make every effort to please and give satisfaction. 

“ It is evident,” said the painter’s wife, in conclusion, 
“ that there is some mystery about this child’s birth and 
early childhood.” 

“ But what can we do to help her?” asked Edward. 
“ Entirely unprotected in this world — what is to become 
of her? I thought I would consult my betrothed. Syl- 
via is a very clever girl, and might, perhaps, suggest a 
remedy. She might procure for her a pleasant situation 
in the house of one of her great relations.” 

The painter’s wife smiled. 

“There is my dear old Frank all himself again,” she 


106 


THE FAIR WEAPON. 


said ; “ the rash, hot-headed enthusiast, who in all inno- 
cence commits the greatest blunders. I thought you 
had learned a little wisdom, since you are engaged !” 

“My dearest Mrs. Lehman,” replied Edward, “when I 
marry I mean to have a wife who is in everything of my 
opinion. There must not be a chance for the smallest 
misunderstanding between us, but such candor and 
trustfulness that either of us can and may say and do 
what he chooses, and be sure to be approved and assisted 
by the other. Without that I cannot imagine happiness 
in wedlock.” 

“Well then,” replied his friend, smiling wickedly, “if 
you think it wiser so, tell your Sylvia your adventure of 
last night. I had proposed, for my part, to do my duty 
to this charming child ; but if you — ” 

Edward sat still thoughtfully for some time ; a variety 
of more or less uncomfortable thoughts crossed his head. 
Recalling his last conversation with his betrothed in the 
park, and many similar interviews with her, he came to 
the conclusion that it would be impractical to make Syl- 
via his confidante in this very delicate affair. It made 
him feel so unpleasantly that he almost roughly turned 
to his wise friend, asking her : 

“ Well, and what was it you meant to do ?” 

She then told him, with many details, that her sister’s 
husband, a minister in Punkinton, had five boys as 
boarders and pupils, and needed assistance, his wife 
being unable, alone, to manage so large a household. 
To him she thought she would send Alma. At the same 
time, she proposed, with the aid of some kinsmen in that 
part of the country from which Alma came, to set on 
foot a careful and discreet inquiry, in order to ascertain, 
if possible, something about her birth, her parentage and 
early childhood. This plan seemed to Edward admir- 


THE FAIR WEAPON. 


107 


able, and they returned to the studio to propose it to the 
girl and to get her consent. 

When Edward, however, found himself facing this 
angelic face and once more looking into those chaste vio- 
let eyes, he hesitated a moment to make the proposal to 
such a delicate being. To bury herself in a wretched 
little village, to live in a poor, lowly house with five bad 
boys, and to work in the kitchen, and who knows where, 
the outlook, he confessed, was not tempting. In fact, he 
would have thought no place on earth too high for so 
much grace and beauty. He could not make up his 
mind to tell her what lot they intended to make hers. 
He gazed at the sketch on the easel, and although he 
admitted that the likeness was striking, he was not satis- 
fied, and began to criticise this and that. How eagerly 
the girl followed his words, apparently drinking them in 
as if they had been heavenly manna ! At last Mrs. Leh- 
man’s patience was exhausted ; she was far too shrewd 
not to guess what made Edward hesitate so long, and 
without ceremony she broke the ice, and told Alma what 
was intended. To her surprise and delight the girl at once 
assented, and gratefully entered upon the project. A let- 
ter was to be written and forwarded to Punkinton that 
same day, and hopes were entertained that Alma might, 
in a few days, be safe under the roof of the worthy pas- 
tor. Edward could not remain any longer and took 
leave. On Alma’s face the color changed as she gave 
him her hand and with hot tears thanked him once more 
for all he had done for her. He went, feeling as if in a 
dream, and thinking of nothing but of the poor aban- 
doned orphan— -if orphan she was. 

Passing by a certain store, the owner of which he knew, 
a happy thought occurred to him. He remembered how 
much he and all who saw the poor girl the first time, had 
been struck by the extreme poverty of her costume. He 


108 AT THE ROOTS OF THE UP A 8 TREE. 

entered, therefore, and with the aid of the lady, his friend, 
selected all that was most urgently needed to make up a 
very modest outfit for the child. In making his pur- 
chases he could not but feel all the time as if he w r ere 
providing for one who was to be his own. He could 
hardly be roused from his reveries, and finally left the 
choice entirely to the good taste and sound judgment of 
the presiding genius. 

At last all was gotten, he paid the bill, ordered the 
purchase to be sent to his friend’s house, and returned 
home, firmly resolved never to put his foot again in the 
painter’s studio, and not to think of Alma any more. But 
as he sat down before a blank sheet of paper, his pencil 
suddenly began to work independently, and instead of 
the perspective of a palatial residence, for which the 
paper had been prepared, there appeared a female figure 
in Grecian costume. Edward threw the sheet indignantly 
aside, when he noticed what a striking likeness it bore to 
the fair orphan girl Alma. 


CHAPTER X. 

AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 

Baron Simon Liondell celebrated his seventieth birth- 
day. He had not driven into town to-day to his count- 
ing-room, but spent the morning at his villa in order to 
escape the host of people who would come to present 
their congratulations. In town a book was laid out in 
which the visitors entered their names, and the oldest 
clerk had received seventy thousand dollars to distribute 
in wise discretion among benevolent institutions and the 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


109 


poor of the city. Every visitor, moreover, who came to 
congratulate and chose to avail himself of the pretext to 
present a petition for alms, was to receive a small sum of 
money. 

“ God has blessed me abundantly,” the old man said 
to himself as he wrote the cheque for this sum, and 
gratefully thought of the abundance he possessed, “ and 
people shall see that Simon Liondell remembers his 
poor brethren.” 

He thought of the God of Abraham, of Jacob and of 
Isaac, the great Jehovah, who had led his people into a 
land flowing with milk and honey. 

Old Simon was sitting in his library in the villa like an 
old owl in a gilt cage. The room was, of course, like the 
whole edifice, a model of wealth and elegance, but he 
himself was not fair to look at. The room was in the 
corner of the house, and had six walls in black marble, 
the whole forming a kind of pavilion. Four of the walls 
were covered with splendid frescoes, the fifth had a door 
in a frame of yellow marble, and the sixth an enormous 
window of but one gigantic pane of glass. On the divid- 
ing spaces between the frescoes hung four pictures of 
great value, all of them views of the most beautiful parts 
of God’s earth. One represented the Gulf of Naples, a 
second Stockholm, the third showed the Golden Horn and 
the last the Memnon Image. These pictures indemnified 
the old banker for his enforced residence at one place ; for 
he did not like traveling, especially not on railways, 
where so many accidents were continually happening, 
and still less on water, which he hated with the hereditary 
horror of his race. Whenever voyages were mentioned, 
the old man was fond of quoting Porcius Cato, who 
said that there were only three things for which he felt 
repentance : one if he had ever told a woman what he 
wished to be kept secret — another, if he had spent a day 


110 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


in idleness — and the third having gone by water to a 
place which he might have reached by land. In spite 
of all this splendor, however, the old baron did hot feel 
comfortable in this room, nor in the villa itself. He was 
a most industrious man of business, and only felt really 
at home within the four walls of his counting-room, 
between the many telephones which connected him with 
all the world, and before the huge writing-table that was 
covered with innumerable papers ; here in this dark old 
room, where even in the day-time several lights were 
always kept burning, — here was his true and only home. 
Here his small bright eyes flashed with energy and 
cunning calculations, here as he sent and received dis- 
patches from all parts of the earth, and rolled his millions 
to and fro, here he felt the full power of his immense 
influence on the affairs of the world. 

But to-day the small, round form of the old man sat 
between Vesuvius and Memnon, in an arm-chair specially 
devised and made for him, his feet resting on an im- 
mensely costly old Persian prayer-rug, while his small, 
bloodless hand drummed a march on the superb black 
ebony table, and he was conversing with his son, who 
brought him surprising news. 

Amadeus was reporting to him the last proceedings in 
court against the Turkish interpreter who had threat- 
ened the life of the great artist, Chessa Molini, for this 
trial was of special import for the house of Liondell, 

The researches which Amadeus had set on foot had 
resulted in the remarkable discovery that the famous 
singer was probably a Liondell by birth — the daughter 
of the baron’s older and only brother. The Turk was, 
according to his own statement, a prince of an Arab 
tribe, called Quiloa, and his own name was Said Medgid. 
In a war against the slave-dealers on the eastern coast of 
Africa, his father, coming from Zanzibar, had too rashly 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


Ill 


pursued some Portuguese merchants, and in the heat of 
the pursuit lost his little daughter. Later, a report had 
reached him that the child had been carried to Cuba and 
sold there ; thereupon he had sent his son, the interpreter, 
to the island to discover her, if possible, and to rescue 
her. The young man had taken passage on board a 
Spanish vessel, accompanied by thirty slaves of his own, 
and in company of five hundred blacks who were to be 
sold in Cuba. Landing in Havana, he had been accosted 
by an agent who had come down to the ship to look at 
the slaves and to assist in selling them to Cuban planters. 
This man had invited the prince to come, with his whole 
retinue, and take up his abode with the agent until his 
sister could be found. But no sooner had the Arabs 
arrived at the hacienda of this imposter, which was on 
all sides surrounded by high walls, than all of them were 
seized, stripped of their clothes and weapons, and 
branded with his initials B. L., which were ever after 
to mark them as his property. 

When the young baron had come to this point in his 
narration, he had paused, deeply moved, and the old man 
sighed deeply, grieving at the wickedness of his brother. 
Prince Said Medgid, the story went on, had worn on his 
person, under his clothes, a chain consisting of alternate 
corals and balls of solid gold, which he considered an 
amulet. As they pulled off his silken underwear to 
brand him, this chain had attracted the attention of a 
ten-year-old daughter of the agent, Benjamin Liondell, 
who sprang up and tore the chain from his neck. Then, 
in a burst of fury, he had struck down one of his guards, 
but was instantly overpowered, fettered and whipped. 
Then the ten-year-old girl, with precocious ferocity, had 
with her own hands pressed the red-hot branding iron 
upon the bare breast of the Arab prince. This girl, 
Said Medgid maintained, became afterwards and is now 


112 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


the celebrated artist, Chessa Molini. The chain, unique 
in the world, had attracted his attention at the supper at 
the Alliance Club, and he had at once recognized the 
features of the girl who had so cruelly marked him for 
life. 

Years ago Baron Simon had been informed that his 
brother Benjamin, with his whole family, had been mas- 
sacred in one of the frequent revolts of slaves in that ill- 
fated island. Now it became evident that the betrayal 
of this Arab prince had given the occasion for this ris- 
ing. He, to avenge himself, had skillfully formed a wide- 
spread conspiracy, the effect of which had been the de- 
struction of the agent’s hacienda by fire and the murder 
of the whole family^ Only the brutal child with the 
necklace, Said Medgid added, had escaped in an almost 
miraculous manner, probably by the secret influence of 
the amulet. 

When the young man had reached this point in his 
narration, he was interrupted by the entrance of a ser- 
vant in richly gold-laced livery, who announced His Ex- 
cellency the Russian Ambassador, Prince Tshitshatsheff. 

The banker rose and went to meet the Prince. He 
had an ambling walk, for he suffered of gout, and had, 
moreover, the consciousness that a man such as he was 
could walk in any way that was most convenient to him. 
The folding-doors of the large hall which adjoined the 
banker’s library, were torn open, and in the centre of this 
apartment, shining with gold, the smiling Shemite and 
the cunning Tartar met in affectionate embrace. 

The Russian Ambassador was a small man, with the 
face of a woman a hundred years old. It was crossed 
and recrossed by a thousand small wrinkles of bluish 
pallor, entirely beardless, and almost without lips, with 
deep-sunk cheeks. But it received its light from two jet 
black brilliant eyes, of incredible size, and a strange look- 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


113 


ing cunning, which made the impression as if the whole 
face was eyes. He was in evening costume, and wore, 
among countless stars and crosses, an immense portrait 
of the Czar set in diamonds of amazing size. 

With a familiarity which elicited from the prince’s 
eyes a flash of angry repugnance, the banker patted him 
on his back, took him under his arm, led him with many 
flattering phrases into the library, and there pressed him 
into a wide arm-chair facing the Golden Horn. Then 
the prince presented to him a handsome young man, 
Chamberlain of His Majesty, Prince Amurinski, and took 
from his hands a red morocco case. 

“ My dear baron,” he said, opening the case, “ His 
Majesty, my gracious Master, has ordered me to hand 
you this star and this ribbon, together with the expres- 
sion of his most gracious good wishes.” 

With these words he hung upon the neck of the old 
man, who continually bowed, a broad, fiery red ribbon, 
and fastened a star of the size of a small saucer on his 
left breast. Then the two ugly old men shook hands 
with each other most cordially, and looked at each other 
with much meaning in their deep, cunning eyes. Both 
were alike experienced and clever, handsomely decorated, 
and eager to overreach each other. The young baron 
and Prince Amurinski were silent witnesses of this cer- 
emony. 

The minister was the first to speak, and began, after a 
few complimentary phrases, to discuss the Russian 
finances, which the prince tried to represent as most pros- 
perous. 

“ However,” he said, interrupting himself, “ I must not 
forget that you are, of course, much better acquainted 
with our finances than we are. You see, my dear baron, 
how very practical these measures are, and how easy it 
will therefore be to you, no doubt, to place the new loan 


114 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


for five hundred millions rubles, which will be needed 
in the course of the year, and which you and the Baron 
Steiglitz together, will, 1 presume, emit as usual.” 

The banker rose. “ Come in,” he said, “ come in !” 
seizing the great man by the arm again. “Your Excel- 
lency will not disdain, I hope, a glass of Madeira. It is 
genuine, and there is little enough of it grown on the 
islands, but I and the Queen of England, we get some 
little.” 

The prince allowed himself to be dragged up from his 
chair and through the reception-room into a third gor- 
geously adorned hall, where a table was set. Covered 
silver dishes with alcohol lamps kept the dishes hot, and 
rich perfumes overcame the odor of eatables. The 
whole room was wainscoted with cedar-wood, and from 
the ceiling hung gold and silver fruit, apparently grown 
on beautifully-wrought garlands. The servants pushed 
four heavy, luxuriously-padded chairs to the table, and 
they took their seats to enjoy their breakfast. 

“ You will see,” said the banker, “ that I have already 
prepared everything for the loan. It will be taken 
almost entirely here in Germany. I have had written 
articles in all the best European newspapers, explaining 
the true condition of Russia, and you will see the result.” 

The prince nodded courteously, played with the caviar 
and his gold-washed spoons, drank three drops of 
Madeira from a Venetian glass of priceless value, and 
then entered upon a discussion of the conditions under 
which he would undertake to place the loan. The nego- 
tiations did not proceed as promptly as had been hoped. 
The old banker was not satisfied with material advan- 
tages, although'he calculated that the syndicate which 
might take and place the loan, might earn half a million 
dollars in the transaction, one-fourth of which would fall 
into his safe, but he demanded besides that the Russian 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


115 


Government should bring a pressure to bear upon 
Roumania, to make an end to the persecution of the Jews 
in that country. 

“Whilst all over Europe that toleration prevails which 
is the best guarantee for a good condition of business 
generally, there in a corner of Europe, a rude, uncivilized 
population continues to wage open war against harmless, 
innocent citizens, simply because they have another 
faith. *This may bring about deplorable conflicts, and 
threaten the continuance of peace ! The other great 
powers have so far refused to acknowledge the admission 
of Roumania, merely on this account. Russia cannot 
secure her credit if she permits such horrors under her 
own guns, and if she herself takes measures in evident 
hostility !” 

The prince closed the upper half of his eyes, as if he 
wished to close the windows through which his thoughts 
might be seen, and said : “ Pardon me, dear baron, but 
I fear you have been misinformed in this case. The' 
poor Roumanians can hardly defend themselves against 
the Jews, who fall upon the land like grasshoppers. 
These clever, cunning dealers, get hold of the whole soil, 
and the Diet looks in vain for measures by which they 
might be kept outside, because these foreign dealers are 
pernicious.” 

At this moment the gray-haired old servant announced 
His Excellency the Minister of Finances. The Ambassa- 
dor rose. 

“You are engaged, I see,” he said. “ Consider my offer.” 

« Oh, I pray ! your Excellency !” said the baron, hold- 
ing his arm, “it is nobody — only the Minister of Finances. 
Your Excellency has not even finished your glass of 
wine. Show His Excellency in !” he said to the servant. 

A rosy, blooming gentleman appeared in the door, and 
was most cordially welcomed by the old baron. 


116 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


“ It gives me very particular pleasure,” he said; “ my 
dear Baron Liondell, to write my hearty congratulations, 
with those of His Majesty, who herewith appoints you 
Privy Councilor, and at the same time, in token of his 
appreciation of your signal merit, sends you this external 
evidence.” With these words he handed the old gentle- 
man a parchment, and with his own hands fastened a 
broad, yellow ribbon with a diamond star around his 
neck. “ And I have reason to believe that this decoration 
will not be the only one to keep the high Russian order 
company, which I see there, for my carriage preceded 
only by a few yards that of the Portuguese Minister.” 

“Frederick,” said the vain old man to the servant, * 
“ tell the valet to send me a set of my orders — the large 
one. Oh ! if my Rebecca only could have lived to see 
this moment !” he sighed, stepping before an immense 
silver-framed mirror and admiring himself. “ Thank 
you, my dear Muller, thank you,” he said to the 
minister ; “ and also for your admirable speech yester- 
day in the Diet ! You spoke as I would have done 
had I been there, from my very heart ! When will peo- 
ple get tired blaming Government and demanding 
another method of managing our finances ? But I am 
not afraid. As long as we have men like my friend 
Muller, and our good friend Schmidt at the rudder, 
affairs must prosper. Are not our finances most pros- 
perous ?” 

“ His excellency, the Minister of Finances, certainly 
looks prosperous and blooming,” said the Russian. 

“That reminds me of a little story,” said the banker. 

“ His Excellency was going home after having dined 
here, and the dinner, as I must confess, had been. a pretty 
good one — ” 

“ Your dinners are always good,” laughed the minis- 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


117 


ter. “ I must confess I had done, that evening of which 
you speak, not my duty only, but perhaps a little more. 
I was not free from apprehension, I know. My physician 
had whispered a fatal word in my ear — apoplexy ! But 
that red partridge stew was — ” 

“ Oh, well ! As I said, my friend here was going home 
after this gracious appreciation of my cook, when at a 
corner of Unter den Linden the carriage was stopped. 
There was a jam. Profiting by the opportunity, a ragged 
beggar steps up and asks for alms, saying, ‘ I am dying 
of hunger !’ ‘And you complain, rascal ?’ said the Excel- 
lency here, ‘ I only wish I were in your place, and could 
hunger !’ ” 

“ His Excellency, Count Gorres Nuevas, the Portu- 
guese minister.” 

He also brought a token of his master’s appre- 
ciation of the remarkable talents of old Liondell, and 
after him came an almost endless number of eminent 
men from his own country and from foreign countries. 
One elegant carriage after another drove up and into 
the beautiful portico of the villa, resting on richly 
adorned marble columns, and soon an active, busy crowd 
of ladies and gentlemen filled the rooms, surging from 
one to the other as this or that celebrity was recognized 
in one or the other apartment. The old baron himself, 
his whole breast covered with stars and crosses, literally 
dazzling by their splendid array of diamonds, was wad- 
dling up and down, spending here a kind word and 
there a weighty, business hint, or setting a whole crowd 
a-laughing by a witticism, which, coming from any other 
man, would never have been noticed. 

But his heart was in the kitchen. 

He had ordered for to-day — he dined at the early hour 
of six — a dinner of fifty persons, among whom were per- 
haps a dozen elderly men who were considered the great- 


118 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


est gourmets of the city. Among these was a famous 
physician, who had written a great work on Dyspepsia, 
at the same time rendering a signal service to man- 
kind by the invention of a new and incomparable 
mayonnaise ; also a prince of the church, very near to 
the person of His Holiness, who had brought the secret 
of a salad made with the white of egg and Lucca oil, to 
Berlin, and even the Member of the Imperial Diet, 
Comet, the banker’s connection of marriage, with whom 
he carried on a perpetual feud on the subject of the pre- 
cise moment when a baron of beef ought to appear on 
the table. Prince Lignac also was present, and other 
wise and solid men, who had come to the conclusion that 
nothing in this restless, ever-changing world was worth 
living for, except what we eat and drink. 

To give these men a fit dinner was to-day the great 
question for the good old gentleman, and he had spent 
hours with his first artist in the kitchen, discussing the 
menu, and preparing one or two surprises even for the 
most experienced palates. Among these was a dish of 
bears’ paws, which he had ordered from St. Petersburg. 
These paws were to be wrapped in skins and thus roasted 
between hot stones, without any condiment whatever, and 
the baron was intensely anxious to see the impression they 
would make upon the Cardinal, who had once asserted 
that they were the noblest dish on earth, but unfortunately 
never cooked fit to be eaten except in St. Petersburg. 
The baron was anxious, for none of his cooks had ever 
attempted the dish, and even his first cordonbleu , who 
shrank from no difficulty, had lain awake all night 
reflecting on this costly and as yet unknown dish. But 
the old baron suffered yet from another source. He 
fancied he perceived a faint odor coming from the kitchen. 
This notion — for it was nothing more — had made a lodg- 
ment in his mind, until it had actually become a fixed 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


119 


idea. It had caused him more annoyance and real grief 
than the loss of millions. In reality not the smallest odor 
was perceptible in the reception-rooms — in fact it was 
impossible from the great distance that lay between 
them and the kitchen — but the baron took it into his 
head that it was so and was unhappy. He was not a 
man whom imagination controlled ; on the contrary, a 
practical man, every inch of him. Nevertheless, that 
fancy which plays so many tricks on us mortal dwellers 
on earth, nowand then got hold of him also. He remem- 
bered that some of his cooks from the south of France 
could not abandon the habit of perfuming nearly every 
dish of their make with a suspicion of garlic or onion, 
and now the poor old'man’s nose distinctly perceived the 
rich, luscious odor in his private apartments ! 

He turned to his son and whispered into his ear : “Do 
you smell it, Amadeus ?” 

The baron^ shrugged his shoulders. He knew his 
father’s idiosyncrasy. “ I beseech you, father, be calm ! 
The kitchen is half a mile off !’’ 

“ And yet I smell it !” replied the father. 

Full of mistrust he walked straight up to President 
Comet, whose benevolent face and imposing figure was 
just then visible in the open door. 

“ All right ! All right !’’ he replied to the good wishes 
and blessings of the great financier and statesman, “ that 
is all very well, but tell me, quite honestly and candidly, 
if you, a member of the Imperial Diet, have not forgot- 
ten how that is done. Do you perceive an odor from the 
kitchen here ?” 

He drew his kinsman aside, as he asked this question, 
and took no notice of his niece Rachel, who was almost 
dissolving in joy and humble delight at the wealth and 
high position of the rich uncle. Nor did he mind Sylvia, 
who, elegant and joyous as became the occasion, was 


120 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


standing behind her mother and waiting for her turn to 
offer congratulations. 

The cunning old parliamentarian, thus questioned by 
the banker, thought it might be wholesome for the 
Nabob, on a day on which fortune was showering all her 
richest gifts upon him, to taste a little bitterness. He 
looked with envy at the long rows of splendid stars on 
the old man’s breast, and thought what a scandal it was 
that old money-Jews should be thus /lecorated, while 
really deserving men like himself were forgotten and for- 
saken. At the same time he remembered that the old 
man had several times spoken of building himself a new 
house nearer to town ; in that case he hoped to be able 
to secure the architectural plans, etc., for his son-in-law to 
come, as Sylvia would love him. 

“ If I am to be quite frank,” he said, “ I must indeed 
confess — confess — that something here reminds me of a 
favorite dish, which I learnt to know and to prize highly 
in Pau — I mean — ” 

“ Never mind !” broke in the baron. 

“ Permit me,” continued Comet, holding on to one of 
the crosses on the little man’s breast, “ it may interest 
you. An old French officer once showed me the true 
preparation of endive salad. You know, it requires first 
of all, a fat capon — ” 

He paused, for the banker looked furious, and his face 
assumed a deeper red. After a while he calmly con- 
tinued : 

“ I have always thought the plan of your house 
labored under one serious defect. The kitchen is evi- 
dently so situated that the natural direction of the winds 
is in the direction from it to your State apartments. Our 
architects have not yet learnt to attend to such matters 
as carefully as ought to be done. I have learnt that from 
my future son-in-law, an excellent architect, who com- 


AT THE ROOTS OF THE UPAS TREE. 


121 


bines the most genial insight with the most thorough 
scientific culture.” 

“ Send him to me one of these days,” said the old 
baron, “ I want to discuss that with him.” 

Now at last he found leisure to speak to the ladies 
Comet, and accepted their congratulations with much 
acidity in his face. He was anxious to be left alone. 
These visits fatigued him, and he j^ad thoughts that seri- 
ously troubled him. Above all, he was anxious to hear the 
conclusion of the story which his son had begun ; the 
melancholy fate of his nearest relatives distressed him 
greatly, and although he had known of course, that they 
had died in Cuba, he was now exceedingly anxious to 
hear something of his only surviving niece. 

These thoughts returned with renewed force when 
he could at last bid farewell to most of the guests ; 
he shortened the conversation with others, and at last 
curtly dismissed some whose only excuse 7 for their pres- 
ence was a very remote relationship. Then he sent for 
the young baron, whom he had not seen for an hour or 
more. To his surprise he learnt that he had driven out. 
Angrily he pushed a heap of letters and official documents 
from the table and took up the last reports from ’Change 
at London, simply in order to have at last something 
solid in his hands. 


122 


ABROAD. 


CHAPTER XI. 

ABROAD. 

The joys and cares of the morning, the conversation 
with so many and so varied men had fatigued him ; and 
long before he had begun to appreciate the delicate pulse 
of the two great ’Changes of Paris and London, his head 
had sunk on his breast among all the enameled beasts 
and birds there, and his eyes closed. Present things 
vanished ; he felt himself a baby led by a mysterious 
charm which the old, old man could not make out ; now 
it was a ribbon, and he tried his utmost to see what its 
color was and to which of his many orders it belonged. 
He saw himself next surrounded by blacks, and was 
unspeakably distressed that he possessed no cowries, not 
a pitiful knife, nothing to purchase his life. These 
brutal creatures became more and more beastly, until at 
last they determined to cut him up and make “ long pig ” 
of him. The anxiety grew and he suffered agonies, 
until at last the charm broke ; the pain reached a 
point at which he could bear it no longer, and he awoke. 
Before him stood his son, who had laid his hand on his 
shoulder to wake him. 

“Oh, my son Amadeus, my soul is in sadness, because 
of my brother Benjamin !”said the old man, still half un- 
der the dominion of sleep. 

The eyes of the son shone with a dismal fire, but he 
said nothing. 

“Tell me, Amadeus, what else you know of my bro- 
ther’s child. I will take charge of her and be a father 
to her !” 

“ That would be nice, indeed,” said the son. “ I should 


ABROAD. 


123 


think we had enough baggage of that kind already in 
the house !” 

“ Amadeus ! what say you !” exclaimed the old man, 
terrified. 

“This singer can do us no good. Who knows where 
she has been, or not been, since she ran away from Cuba ? 
We would become the laughing stock of the world if we 
were to pick up that woman and introduce her as our 
‘new cousin.’ We shall have enough to do to keep that 
scandalous affair at the club but of the newspapers. I 
have, at all events, sent round to the editors whom we 
know, asking them not to mention the unlucky affair.” 

“ Amadeus, you are clever, you are too clever,” said 
the father. “ But remember, ‘ The fear of the Lord is the 
beginning of wisdom!’ Shall I deny my own brother’s 
seed ?” 

“ I pray, dear father, do not talk in that antediluvian 
way. We are surely too enlightened in our day to let such 
maxims guide us in life. The commands of prudence 
and the divine laws of olden times are identical. It is 
pretty much the same thing, but I do not like to hear 
you speak in such a very old-fashioned way.” 

“ But Amadeus, we are surely bound to assist our 
kith and kin. Our people are scattered all over the earth, 
and we must hold together, stand up one for all, and all 
for one, if we do not mean to be trod under foot by the 
Christians, and here, in our own family, where we deal 
with flesh of our flesh and blood of our blood : — we must 
keep together !” 

“ When it is profitable — yes ! But here it is of no use. 
The Chessa cannot be benefited by our calling her cousin. 
She is one of the greatest artists alive and does a bril- 
liant business. She does not need us. But we, we be- 
long to the Upper Ten, we are aristocrats, and for us the 
connection with a Spanish singer of doubtful fame is 


124 % 


ABROAD. 


very compromising — especially since she lies under the 
suspicion of having stolen a necklace ! If we mean to 
give up our relations to the first in the land, in order 
to play the affectionate kinsmen to this whole crowd of 
the children of Korah — why in the name of common 
sense did I ever take the trouble of having myself bap- 
tized ?” 

“ Amadeus, Amadeus, you are clever I Too, too clever, 
I tell you, my son. But pride is leading you astray and 
pride goes before the fall. We have not become rich by 
pride. I do not like it that you go to these strange 
people, and ride their wild horses, and play with them 
at baccarat in the club, and sit in high places at the 
opera, and applaud after you have looked round to see 
if the others applaud too ! That is not a business at 
which you can make money. That is a business which 
can only bring you difficulties with these reckless, young 
soldiers who do not mind firing at each other in a duel. 
You are my only son — my only child ! Let these great 
people come to you ! You can do it. Don’t they come 
to me ? They need us ; we do not need them. They are 
not necessary to us ; they have to come to us if they 
want anything. Look at all my orders and stars, my 
jewels and my diamonds — did I go to get them ? No, 
they came and brought them to me. Did I go to that 
haughty Count Henning and beg him to give me 
his fair daughter Hyacinth as a daughter-in-law ? Or 
did the proud old nobleman bring her to me on a silver 
waiter when he found out that you liked the maiden?” 

The young baron started. The expression of his face 
grew darker and fiercer, and he walked up and down in 
the room in a state of great excitement. 

“ That is it,” he said, vehemently, adding force to his 
words by violent gestures, “ that is what annoys me, that 
we, with all our money, cannot see things and do things 


ABROAD. 


125 


as these aristocrats. I cannot bear it that they look upon 
us as parvenus. I want to show these haughty princes, 
counts and barons that I am just as good as they are, 
that I fit into their distinguished circles as well as they 
do, that I am at home in all their knightly usages as well 
as any of them. For I believe I am, and in my innermost 
heart, in all my likings and dislikings, ever have been an 
aristocrat. I have ever liked to fight, to dance, to ride, 
to develop those tendencies towards music, painting, 
sculpture and all the fine arts. I am a born aristocrat !” 

“Yes, my Amadeus, you are !” 

“ And yet,” continued the son, “and yet there is a cer- 
tain something there which I cannot define, but which I 
feel is there. I noticed it especially among the people 
whom I met in London at Sir Moses Montifiore’s house. 
There I never saw a shadow interfering between the 
Englishmen and ourselves, and yet I met the very best 
people there.” 

“ Sir Moses is a Portuguese Jew,” said the old man in 
-a tone of deep veneration. 

“And we are Polish Jews,” replied the son, bitterly. 
“ Is not that what you were going to say, father? But I 
maintain we are no Jews at all, and it is infamous to go 
on talking of any difference between Jews and Chris- 
tians and Mohammedans in our days of toleration, instead 
of taking man as he is, as Nature has made him.” 

“ And as he has or has not, Amadeus ! You are clever, 
my son. You are too clever. You are a cavalier, but 
you do not mind what is most important. You see, 
Amadeus, all that the Lord has at any time promised our 
fathers, the patriarchs, is contained in the one small 
word, Money ! If you say money, you say all things, 
Amadeus. 

“ Houses and fields, parks and gardens, costly carriages 
and high-bred horses, paintings and statues, male singers 


126 


ABROAD. 


and dancers, and female dancers and singers, titles, 
crosses and stars, grand ladies and fair maidens — all that 
heart can wish for, and a great deal more — all this is 
in that one little word — Money ! And when I, as they 
call me, Simon Baron Liondell, take my pen and write 
on a bit of paper this name of mine, and a cipher with 
six zeros — then I can cover with my poor old trembling 
hand all I have mentioned, castles and parks, horses and 
dogs, great lords and fair women — all and everything !” 

The young man threw himself on a lounge, folded his 
hands behind the back of his head, clenched his teeth, 
and looked mutely at the exquisite ceiling. He was very 
unhappy. He had just been to see his betrothed, and 
the interview had not been pleasant. 

When in the forenoon the old baron’s villa could hard- 
ly contain the multitude that came humbly to congratu- 
late the millionaire, he had been every minute expecting 
to see his lady-love and her family enter also, but this 
one family came not ! He began to be troubled by their 
absence for he had devised a nice little jest to hand 
her a set of rubies of rare beauty in a specially delicate 
manner — and now she did not come ! At last, half anx- 
ious and half angry he had ordered his carriage, and 
after throwing the rubies into a dark corner of his drawer 
he had gone to see the Countess Hyacinth. His horses 
were fast and the coachman let them have the reins ; 
nevertheless he urged him to drive faster and faster, and 
thus, in the course of a few minutes his coupe had 
dashed up before Count Henning’s house. He jumped 
out, ran up the steps, pushed aside the servant who was 
going to announce him, and rushed into the reception 
room. He found his betrothed with reddened eyes from 
recent weeping, standing at the window, and near her a 
Captain of Cavalry, Count Victor Eyry. 

This Count Eyry was an old friend of the young 


ABROAD. 


127 


Countess Hyacinth, as the young baron knew very well, 
having found him at this house frequently before, but it 
pained him rather to see him here just on this day, and 
the countess evidently moved to tears — by what ? The 
two young men very naturally eyed each other with no 
friendly looks, the captain always assuming a peculiarly 
stern manner, when he met the lucky man to whom the 
fair countess was betrothed. His towering, broad- 
shouldered form, his strongly-marked warrior’s face and 
his unbending, manly beauty gave him a likeness to a 
bronze statue that has just stepped down from its pedes- 
tal. The last time the young men had met, at the Alli- 
ance Club, when the captain had spoken to his cousin, 
Prince Lignac, he had hardly bestowed more than an 
icy look upon the young baron, which still rankled in the 
young man’s bosom. To-day also, when he saw him 
approach his betrothed, he bowed ceremoniously and 
coldly, and then took leave of the beautiful countess. 

Liondell looked at her, looked at the young officer, and 
felt a dagger piercing his heart, for there was no deny- 
ing it : the two handsome beings evidently belonged to 
the same race, the same social rank, the same high grade 
of culture — they were made of the same dough and must 
have the same sensations, the same convictions. 

The countess was tall and slender — she measured 
perhaps two inches more than her betrothed. Her com- 
plexion was dazzling fair, her eyes the true forget-me- 
not color so rarely met with, and her hair the richest 
gold, as brilliant as the wheat in August. In her whole 
male kith and kin there was not a man who had not 
borne arms, or meant to do so. They all served their one 
great master on earth, the monarch, and not one of them 
had ever lived to make money. As the young man saw 
these two stately forms side by side, he felt with un- 
speakable bitterness that they and he had not one drop 


128 


ABROAD. 


of blood in common. This was painful, for he loved the 
Countess Hyacinth with his whole heart. F*or a moment 
his imagination carried him to the yellow sand and the 
burning sky of the east — he saw the Scot, the warrior in 
arms sitting by the pure, bubbling spring under the 
lofty palm tree, eating his coarse, rich food, he heard the 
white-robed Emir, while playing, as it seemed, with his 
clean, dainty dates, ironically give utterance to his hor- 
ror of the unclean animal — and for a moment he felt 
the haughty contempt of the son of the East, the proud 
scion of the oldest race on earth, for the swine-eating 
giaour. He recalled Prince Lignac’s contemptuous 
praise of his high descent from the Princess of Judah — 
but it was but a moment that the blood and the pride of 
his ancestors asserted their power in him. The next 
moment the force of habit resumed its sway and he 
once more bent under the yoke which his father’s mill- 
ions and his own vanity had imposed upon him. 

The young countess had on her side suffered a like 
painful sensation when her betrothed entered so sud- 
denly, and she tried to detain the officer by one or two 
trifling questions, so as to diminish the unpleasant 
abruptness of his departure. She asked him if he had 
seen Prince Lignac that morning ? 

He said yes. The prince had shown them a marvel- 
ously beautiful horse in the riding-school of their regi- 
ment. “ If I am not mistaken,” he added in obedience 
to a sign of the countess, turning to Liondelt, “ the 
prince told me you had some idea of buying the animal, 
but that he was too fiery for you. I mean his black 
horse.” 

“ I do not think the horse is too fiery for me,” replied 
Liondell, quickly. “ Suppose, dear Hyacinth, we take a 
ride to-morrow, and if the count will make one of our 



HE FOUND HIS BETROTHED STANDING AT THE WINDOW WEEPING .—See Page 126. 



130 


ABROAD. 


party, I will try to show him that no horse is easily too 
lively for me.” 

“I’ll do so with pleasure,” replied the captain. “ At 
what hour do you command our presence, countess?” 

“When can you send the horses, Amadeus?” asked 
Hyacinth, uttering the name of Amadeus with visible 
hesitation. 

“ I am entirely at your service, my dear,” said he. 

“Well then, let it be at three,” she said, “and we can 
be back in time for dinner !” 

“You have been weeping, dearest Hyacinth ?” asked 
the baron, when the officer had left them alone. 

“ Do not let us speak of it,” she said. “ There are many 
trifles in life that easily cause a woman’s tears to spring, 
while they are not worth being mentioned in a man’s 
hearing.” 

“ But it looks as if the count’s ears were an exception,” 
thought the young man, but he only thought it, and 
expressed his surprise that not a member- of the family 
had appeared at his father’s house to-day, on his birth- 
day. He said this had caused him some concern and 
made him come to inquire. 

The answer was, that the young countess had been on 
the point of starting with her old father, when visitors 
had appeared to whom they could not deny themselves. 
She was afraid it might be too late now, as the old 
baron’s early dinner hour, six o’clock, was near at hand. 
Her congratulations, she hoped, would not come too late 
then. The young lover was not quite reassured by this 
lame explanation, especially as he thought he noticed a 
certain excitement in the young countess s manner that 
he could not easily explain. 

If the young lady had been disposed to tell her lover 
accurately what had happened, and what had really kept 


ABROAD. 


131 


her from paying the proposed visit at the banker’s house, 
he would have been still less content. 

It was really so that Count Henning and his fair daugh- 
ter Hyacinth, had been about to step into their carriage for 
the intended visit, when a visitor had come at the critical 
moment and kept them at home. This was Count Eyry, 
who had important business to contract with her father, 
and kept both her and her father afterwards in close 
conversation. 

The two young people could never meet without a 
secret tremor and a sweet longing in their hearts. For 
once upon a time they had hoped to become man and 
wife — till fate decided differently. In the Eyry family 
as in that of the Hennings the unfailing devotion to the 
Monarch, which made every male member serve him in 
the army or in the civil service, had gradually reduced 
their originally large possessions, nor had they ever 
chosen to marry money. The family Eyry were thus not 
exactly poor, but the young man found it by no means 
an easy task to make his modest allowance suffice for his 
wants, and his father still owned a castle with a fine estate 
in a ring-fence — but it was heavily mortgaged. He had 
been in the diplomatic service, and generally valued the 
honor of his country more highly than his own. Now 
he was old and retired, living alone with his daughter, 
spending, for her sake, a few winter months in the 
capital, and residing the rest of the year in his secluded 
mountain castle. This house of his, and a magnificent 
oak forest which surrounded it on all sides, were his last 
pride. He could trace his family up to the thirteenth 
century, and pointed with just pride to the fact that not 
one of his race had lived elsewhere. This soil, these 
stones, these ivy-covered towers, he could not think of 
alienating, and when times became hard and the claims 
of his creditors so urgent that the poor old man at last 


132 


ABROAD. 


saw no other rescue open — he preferred to sacrifice the 
purity of his race and the happiness of his daughter to 
the loss of the old ruins. 

At one of the great balls given by the count to' the 
residents at the capital and distinguished visitors from 
abroad, Baron Liondell had fallen desperately in love 
with the blonde German maiden. He made no conceal- 
ment of his passion, and her father, who saw in this 
event the direct interposition of Providence, gave his 
consent. It surely did look as if fate had taken pity on 
the old race, when it was his greatest creditor, who held 
the largest mortgage on his estate, who humbly petitioned 
for his daughter’s hand. 

Hyacinth, on her part, consented, though with bleeding 
heart. She also was attached to the old castle with its 
hoary legends, its heroic defences, its terrible dungeons 
and most romantic legends. She resolved, with a brave 
heart, to prove herself a worthy daughter of the family, 
and although tears enough were shed in private, the 
world saw little of her heroic courage. Father and. 
daughter supported eachT)ther. Lover and beloved tried 
to do the same. 

“Let us forget, Victor !” she had said. 

She found it hard to utter these words, but she did it. 
He found it hard patiently to listen to them, but he also 
conquered and remained silent. 

“ We must forget, Victor,” she continued ; “ dreams are 
unwholesome. Let us henceforth be brother and sister ! 
We owe that much to the family, to ourselves, and to my 
future husband. He is an honorable man, and I shall do 
my duty conscientiously. It was not to be.” 

She bowed her head and shed scalding tears that fell 
into her lap unnoticed. He bit his mustache and his 
brow darkened like midnight. He promised to obey, 
but in his heart he swore it should not be as she said it 


ABROAD. 


133 


was to be. Young Liondell knew nothing of this scene, 
nor of any other. But his heart told him what must be 
going on in the heart of his betrothed. He felt it and 
was generous enough to appreciate her noble character. 

His father had in the meantime returned to the finan- 
cial reports as they were lying on his table before him, 
and was just calculating how he could make half a mill- 
ion marks by simply keeping an official notice back an 
hour or so, when his son abruptly demanded to know 
the amount of mortgages resting on the estate of the 
Eyry. 

“ Seven hundred and sixty-five thousand, six hundred 
and seventy-two marks is my mortgage ; the next lar- 
gest—” 

“ Oh, never mind, papa,” said the young man, taken 
aback by the almost appalling minuteness of his father’s 
knowledge. “ I wish he owed you nothing.” 

The old man pushed the papers away from him, and 
looked at his son in amazement. 

“ Why do you say that, Amadeus? Do you think the 
man is not safe ?” 

“ Dear father,” said the young man, sighing, “ I wished 
he owed you nothing because then the family would not 
be dependent on me.” 

“And if they were not dependent on you, how would 
you get your fair bride, my son Amadeus ?” 

No answer came. 

“ What is the matter with you, my son, oh, my son ?” 
asked the old baron, anxiously. “Are you dissatisfied? 
What ails you, my son ?” 

No answer came yet. 

“You would not acknowledge my brother’s child, 
your cousin, and now you are talking curiously about the 
Hennings. Have those proud people done aught to 
offend you, my son ? I tell you, my Amadeus, if these 


134 


ABROAD. 


haughty Hennings have done anything to hurt your feel- 
ings, I tell you I will show you my power ! I did not 
see the count and his daughter here to-day all the time I 
was in the reception-room. Could it be that they were 
not here at all ? I tell you, my Amadeus, if they have 
offended you, they shall apologize for it, or their ances- 
tral castle, which I verily believe they love better than 
their own flesh and blood, shall come down till not one 
stone shall rest upon the other, and I shall sow turnips 
on the spot where their cradles used to stand.” 

The young man jumped up and once more walked 
rapidly up and down in the spacious apartment. 

“ I pray you, father, let us drop the subject. The 
Hennings W£re not here, that is true, and I went there to 
inquire fearing Hyacinth might be sick. Thejf were pre- 
vented by visitors whom they could not send away, and 
will congratulate you at dinner. I am busy with other 
thoughts in which you take no interest. You do not 
know, father, how you shock me with your theory that 
everything on God’s earth can be bought for money.” 

“ But, Amadeus, the man who has money — I mean 
who has money enough, can buy everything — that is 
so.” 

“ Do you really think so ?” 

“ Amadeus, I tell you, in all my life I have never yet 
seen the thing that cannot be had for money. Did you 
ever see any such thing?” 

“Yes, indeed, father, and it is always the best. What 
is the use of all my money if I cannot feel myself at 
home among all these aristocratic people with whom 
we exchange visits ? Can I offer them money that they 
may look upon me as a Brandenberg banker, a noble- 
man of their own race ? That they may think me their 
equal ? No ! Money cannot do that ! Money makes 
them treat me civilly, invite me, accept my invitations, 


ABROAD. 


135 


come and kill my game, drive in my carriages, ride my 
horses, and in like manner offer me the use of theirs — 
but all my money will not break down that invisible 
parting wall, which, firm like the diamond mountains in 
the fairy tales, stands between them and myself. But I 
want to be a cavalier like them, a well-bred gentleman, 
a man of courtesy and devotion to the fair sex, and not 
the modern Midas, whose touch changes everything into 
gold, even the warm, pulsating, heart of the living, 
breathing man.” 

“You are young, my son Amadeus, and the young 
eyes see it so. I know the world longer than you do, my 
son. That is all very nice and pretty, that riding and 
driving, and those noble manners and high-bred ways, 
but it is all humbug, and money is their god just as 
everybody in the world worships money.- As you grow 
older, you will see more clearly, that nothing on earth 
has any real, tangible value, but money — the fear of the 
Lord, of course, always excepted. Amadeus, I beseech 
you, remember you are my only son ; be content with 
what God has given you — do not hanker after things 
that have no intrinsic value ; profit by the advantages 
Providence has bestowed upon you at your birth already 
and strive not after visionary things ! Let these aristo- 
crats wait on you — but do not go and wait on them. 

The young baron made no reply, but said merely that 
it was time to dress for dinner, and went away. All that 
his father had said only convinced him more strongly 
that the young countess did not really love him, but only 
wanted his money. He thought for a moment of break- 
ing off the engagement, but the great love he bore the 
beautiful woman with the real forget-me-not eyes, made 
that impossible. Then he thought of tearing the mort- 
gage parchments into pieces, to hand these to the count, 
A nd thus to free him of all obligations. But he saw at 


136 


THE TH0R0UGH-BRE)D. 


once that this was a childish idea, which did not deserve 
consideration. Then again he delighted in the thought 
that his betrothed was a great, a nation’s beauty, the scion 
of a noble family, and that everybody envied him the 
conquest. 

On all sides he heard only voices of admiration, of 
jealousy, of envy even, and the final result of his 
meditation was, after all, only the resolve to surround 
Hyacinth with such splendor and magnificence as no 
nobleman could surpass, and thus to prove himself a 
cavalier without equal in the land. With this intention, 
he told Prince Lignac, during the sumptuous dinner, 
that he meant to buy the black mare, which for the 
last few weeks had been the cynosure of the city, and 
appeared afterwards in the eyes of his betrothed in the 
sunniest light. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE THOROUGH-BRED. 

Punctually at three o’clock on that afternoon, the 
black mare of Prince Lignac was standing at the door of 
Count Henning’s town house, and the prince himself 
was present, mounted on his famous sorrel stallion, to 
witness the first ride of the new owner of this famous mare. 
As the old count had no carriage-hiorses in the city, 
the daughter was to mount her favorite pony. Count 
Eyry rode a thorough-bred dark gray of uncommon 
strength and beauty. These were fine horses, indeed, 
that stood here assembled, for the prince and the silent 
captain were first-rate horsemen, and would sooner have 
appeared before the countess in a torn coat than badly 


THE THOROUGH-BRED 


137 


mounted, while Liondell chose his horses with the aid of 
two excellent confederates — an old corporal of dragoons 
whose eyes had been practiced for more than thirty years 
in the purchase of horses for his regiment, and a purse 
full to bursting. When Hyacinth and her betrothed 
appeared under the stately portico and welcomed the 
two gentlemen who were waiting there, her eyes fell 
upon the black with enthusiastic admiration, but her 
next look went to Amadeus, and in it there was — mar- 
velous to tell — a strange mixture seen of affection and of 
apprehension. But her experienced eye, and that strange 
gift to woman, her instinct, told her in a moment that 
this was not a horse which her betrothed could easily 
manage. The black mare was standing very quietly, 
only her eyes were active, and these wondrously large 
and glowing eyes burnt with a weird, dark fire. Not a 
white hair disfigured her silken black coat. She was the 
ideal of the result of blending the Arab blood of the 
desert with the high blood of the English race-course. 
Under her fine, satin-like skin the veins showed like a 
thousand delicate lines, and the long, thin tail whipped 
her flanks in constant excitement. 

“ She is the finest horse I ever saw !” exclaimed Hya- 
cinth, in a burst of excitement. “ I congratulate you 
that she is yours, baron. But she is difficile, I fear,” 
she added. 

“ I like a horse that is difficile, as you call it,” replied 
the proud young baron. “ Quiet horses soon tire me 
out.” 

“ She will give you amusement enough !” said the 
captain, with emphasis. 

“Do not let them frighten you,” said the prince, “my 
dear baron. Only remember what I told you ; a very 
light hand, a perfectly quiet seat, not even the shadow of 
the leg to be felt. You will think you mounted a bird 1” 


138 


THE THOROUGH-BRED. 


The young man felt somewhat uncomfortable. Why 
did they all speak to him as if he were a novice? He 
made no reply, helped his betrothed into the saddle, 
mounted lightly, and rode by the side of the pony. The 
prince and the count joined the cavalcade, two grooms 
followed. It was a brilliant spectacle, and all who knew 
anything of horses stopped in the streets to gaze at the 
rare horses brought here together. 

Hyacinth, in her riding-habit and tall silk hat, looked 
uncommonly well in the saddle, in which she sat with 
aristocratic ease, showing at a glance that she was to the 
“manor born.” Liondell watched her with admiring 
eyes as often as his horse gave him a chance. She went 
quietly along, but she paid a truly wonderful attention 
to all that was going on around her, and especially to 
the slightest motion of the man on her back. A slight 
blowing announced the interest she took in the events 
around her. As long as they were riding on the dis- 
agreeable, hard pavement of the streets, the horses 
walked slowly ; she, with a delightful, elastic step, and, 
as it seemed to her rider, literally pushing the upper arm 
forward from the shoulders, and then putting the tiny 
round hoofs daintily down, so as to make the motion as 
pleasant as possible to her rider. It was more of a dance 
than of a walk. 

Liondell was a good horseman and tried his best to 
follow the prince’s suggestions ; he felt, besides, soon 
himself, how important it was to sit perfectly quiet, so as 
to lull the animal’s natural fears, and himself to become 
more familiar with his new friend. He had to confess to 
himself that he had never yet mounted a horse of such 
exquisite delicacy of touch. Every time when one of the 
other horses got an inch ahead of the mare, she shot for- 
ward like a flash of lightning, so that the young baron 
felt like sitting on the back of an eagle. 


THE THOROUGH-BRED. 


139 


But he sat as if he were a Centaur, and his hand moved 
not, as if cast in bronze. His friends complimented him, 
and he fancied his betrothed looked at him with admir- 
ation. 

“Do you know, countess, what brings the prince 
here — I mean to Berlin ?” asked the captain, when they 
were walking once more. 

“ Well !” she replied. “ Is it a mystery ?” 

“ Bray, Victor,” said the prince, “ do not spoil my 
chances by telling on me.” 

“ It would be a work of charity to do that !” 

Then I fear they are bad !” said the baron. 

“Yes — for he wants to marry !” answered Count Eyry. 

“ Are those bad intentions ?” asked Hyacinth. 

“ I assure you, countess,” said Brince Lignac, “ this 
cousin of mine is Mephisto in person ; he lives on malice, 
he breakfasts on irony, and dines on sarcasm. Recently 
I poured out my heart’s heart to him and asked his ad- 
vice. I came to him, an innocent babe, asking advice as 
of a loving father. For I am looking out for a wife, and 
I know nothing of the fair sex. I have no experience, 
no knowledge. What did he advise me? To count my 
buttons! Yes — no — yes — and to abide by the decision !” 

“ And you are really as helpless as you say ?” asked 
Hyacinth again. 

“ Berfectly so,” replied the prince. “My ohly hope is 
now that some lady will take pity on me and advise me.” 

“But in order to do that the lady will have to hear 
your complete confession !” said the count. 

“ Ladies cannot hear confessions, not even among them- 
selves,” replied the prince. 

“ Why not ?” asked Hyacinth. 

“ Because Bope Sixtus V. has specially forbidden it. 
One day the abbesses of the nun’s convents in Rome ap- 
peared before him and represented to him how much 


140 


THE THOROUGH -BRED. 


better it would be, if, by a special indulgence, he would 
permit the women in their convents to confess to each 
other. ‘ I should willingly grant it,’ said the Holy Father, 
‘but for one doubt I have. You know confessions have 
to be kept secret, and I do not see how that can be ex- 
pected of women.’ ‘Oh,’ said the great ladies, ‘your 
Holiness is ill informed. We women can keep a secret 
quite as well as men and perhaps even better.’ ‘Well 
then,’ said the wise pope, ‘ wait a moment and I will 
give you my answer.’ He left the room, but only to 
return almost immediately with a small box in which he 
had put a linnet. He handed them the box and begged 
them to keep it safely. Then he gave them his Apostolic 
Blessing, and asked them the next day to bring the box 
back. On their return next day they handed him the 
box, not without a slight embarrassment, and when the 
Holy Father opened the box, to be sure, there was the 
bird — but it was a finch ! Then he pointed out to them 
how hard it would be for them to preserve the secrets of 
the confessional, when they could not keep the secret of 
the box for a day.” 

“ And yet you think, prince, that ladies of whose dis- 
cretion you have such a low opinion, can give you useful 
advice in so important a matter?” 

“ I confess, I think so, and moreover I would listen to 
that lady who of all others was most foolish. For I am 
disposed, like Orientals, to see in want of judgment a 
kind of inspired wisdom. Did not our German ancestors 
consult Druidesses who had put themselves into a kind 
of ecstasy under their sacred trees, and did not the Greeks 
go to women sitting on a tripod over villanous smoke 
that bereft them of their senses and enabled them to 
, prophecy? Now I should have hesitated to consult a 
Berlin lady on a tripod, because their incense might not 
be approved of by the Gods of Olympia, but I am sure I 


THE THOROUGH-BRED. 


141 


could find a lady unwise enough to answer my purpose. 
A lady, say, who had married a man she did not love 
and let another man die, whom she did love, and all this 
perhaps merely for pecuniary reasons !” 

The prince said this in his usual playful and slightly 
affected manner, which left it doubtful if he was in 
earnest or not, and under such cover he sent forth his 
poisonous arrows, but the countess looked at him search- 
ingly, till she blushed to the roots of her hair. Count 
Eyry had also been roused, and looked at his friend 
reproachfully. He knew the rudeness of the prince, his 
pointed tongue^ and his love of irritating his best friends 
under the cover of trifling jests. 

Most painfully, however, did these last words wound 
Baron Amadeus, who did not doubt a moment that they 
were directed at the company present. The prince, 
however, nothing daunted, quietly continued : “ I have 
the choice, as you see. When I left Paris the last time, 
my dear old uncle, the Duke of Lasteqrie, gave me a 
supper; there were ten married couples present. Nine 
of the ladies I might have asked for advice, but I was 
afraid they might laugh at me. Paris ladies all think 
you are satirical if you speak of happiness in wedlock. 
Here in Berlin we are better off ; we still meet now and 
then a soft heart. By the way, the tenth lady, who lived 
happily with her husband, I could not have consulted, 
because she was deaf and dumb. She was a charming 
woman otherwise, and often led me to think Jthat perhaps 
the greatest obstacle to marital happiness lies in the fact 
that both parties have the free use of their tongue.” 

“Fortunately,” replied the countess, “ not all people 
have a tongue like yours, prince ; for if it were other- 
wise, the ceremony of the marriage service might often 
include the operation of tongue-cutting.” 

Amid such frivolous chat they had been walking 


142 


THE THOROUGH-BRED. 


along till the prince noticed how excited and impatient 
the black mare had become, and proposed a gallop. 

The horse' was really not as quiet as at first, but the 
fault was with Amadeus, whose black thoughts had all 
been conjured up again by the prince’s reckless way of 
talking. He thought he had become a target for the wit 
of his companions, and in this excitement it was of 
course impossible for him to maintain a calm and even 
pulse. His blood coursed through his veins as in high 
fever, and the animal under him, like all fine animal na- 
ture, in direct sympathy with its rider, responded to his 
temper. 

As the horses now suddenly started for a quick gal- 
lop, and reared and snorted on the right and on the left 
of her, the black mare seemed to think this was the be- 
ginning of a race where it was her duty, as usual, to be 
first and foremost. With one gigantic leap she there- 
fore sprang forward, and when Amadeus checked her, 
she reared and leaped so fearfully that Hyacinth could 
not repress a cry of anxiety. Amadeus drew the reins 
more fiercely back. Then the animal rose on her hind 
legs, and for a second stood straight up. 

“ Give her air ! Give her air !” cried the prince. 

But Amadeus, angry at the horse, and angry at the 
prince’s advice, seized his riding-whip at the thin end, 
and with the heavy, gold knob beat the horse with his 
full power between the ears. 

She instantly came down on her fore feet, and stood 
still for a moment, shuddering and trembling all over, 
as if in silent fury ; then she seized the bit with her 
teeth, and with the swiftness Cf an arrow flew away in a 
straight line. The two gentlemen begged the countess 
to remain where she was, and followed the baron at full 
speed, but the black mare was immensely superior to 
their horses in swiftness, and soon was out of sight. 


CAN VIRTUE BE TAUGHT ? 


143 


They could still see that where the road turned to the 
left she did not follow the road, but kept on in a straight 
line, jumped with one amazing leap over a very wide 
ditch that there separated the road from the plain, and 
then disappeared out of sight. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

CAN VIRTUE BE TAUGHT ? 

On the day after the birthday solemnity at old Baron 
Liondell’s, the same day on which Amadeus had ridden 
Prince Lignac’s marvellous mare, there was a supper 
given at the house of millionaire Comet, to which a 
numerous company had been invited. 

The beautiful, large mansion with its broad, low-stepped 
staircase in white marble, with balusters of exquisitely 
carved ebony wood and bronze ornaments, was brilliant 
with a thousand electric lights. Mrs. Comet also had 
left her favorite “hole in the corner,” as the lord and 
master called it, and come forth into the gorgeous recep- 
tion-rooms crowded with people. But she was not happy. 
For a week already she had been complaining ; her own 
physician had advised her to try sea-bathing, and she had 
sent for her tailor to concoct with him some wonderful 
bathing costumes. But it had for long years been an 
open secret in the family that Mrs. Comet never went to 
the seashore, nor to any other distant place, but cau- 
tiously stayed at home, drinking strong black coffee and 
eating bad, rich cake, together with the richest, fattest 
dishes she could obtain, which had been prohibited her 


144 


CAN VIRTUE BE TAUOHT ? 


at baptism, and which, as the doctors had said, were not 
without their effect upon her digestive apparatus. 

Sylvia looked fairy-like. She was dressed in light 
blue gauze, embroidered in silver. According to the 
then prevailing fashion the robe clung very closely to the 
slender form, and had a long train which was most be- 
coming to her figure. She wore exquisite silver filagree 
work, with diamonds in her hair, around her neck and 
her arms. Her betrothed thought her ravishing, and 
everybody said that the world did not have another such 
couple to show, as these young, remarkably handsome 
people, Edward Frank and Sylvia Comet. 

“ Have you called at Liondell’s ?” Mr. Comet asked 
the young man. 

“ Certainly, early this morning !” was the reply. 

“ And the result ?” 

“The gods only know,” said Frank, in his usual open 
manner, with a smile in his face. “ I confess the Lion- 
dell villa seems to me not only well built, richly decorat- 
ed, and in the best condition, but also arranged in the 
most convenient manner. I only wish I had built it, and 
I cannot see what objection the old gentleman can have 
to the fine building !” 

“ Did you tell him that ?” asked Mr. Comet pointedly. 

“ Certainly !” was the simple answer. 

“Mr. Son-in-law that is to be,” said the old man with 
a bitterly ironical face, “opportunity has hair only in 
front — behind, she is bald. He who misses her once has 
no chance of catching her again.” 

Therewith he turned aside to receive his guests. Syl- 
via looked reproachfully at her betrothed. “ Papa is so 
irritable — you ought surely to be very careful not to 
wound him, Edward,” she said. “ He has so much to 
do of the greatest importance, and of late he seems to 
be literally over-burdened, and is evidently nervous. 


CAN VIRTUE BE TAUGHT? 


145 


Nevertheless, he took pains to enlist Baron Liondell in 
your behalf, and now you have defeated his whole plan.” 

Mrs. Rachel had been standing near, so as to hear 
what was said, and was now looking ironically at the two, 
presenting for the moment a striking resemblance to her 
brother, Doctor Steelyard. Before Edward could an- 
swer, she laid her hand on his arm and asked him to take 
her through the room. 

“ Are you really much in love with Sylvia ?” she asked 
in her usual blunt way. 

“Why, she is my betrothed,” replied Edward, who 
knew the old lady’s oddities. 

“ That does not say much,” she replied ill-naturedly. 
“ All these gay dolls that are walking about here to-night 
have been betrothed in their time, or they are so now, or 
they wish to be so. But whether they are all loved by 
an honest heart such as yours is, Edward — that is an- 
other question !” 

“ What do you mean, dear mamma ?” asked Edward, 
disconcerted. 

“Nothing!” she said. “My head aches and my 
thoughts are all black to-night. I cannot endure large 
entertainments. The people ruin my carpets, stam my 
fine damask, drink the cellar dry, and then go and 
make fun of us who were foolish enough to invite them. 
Take me into the cabinet and tqll me something of the 
new discoveries in Troy. You will get back to Sylvia 
time enough.” 

Tedious as this was to Edward, he did as she wished, 
and told her about Schliemann and Hermann. He felt 
sorry for the poor woman, who was evidently unhappy, 
and was glad to be able to do her a favor. At the same 
time he felt troubled by the peculiar manner in which 
she had to-day spoken of her daughter. Did she want 
to warn him against Sylvia’s lust of power, against her 


146 


CAN VIRTUE BE TAUGHT? 


perhaps unconscious desire to make him her slave ? And 
still it seemed to be unnatural that a mother should 
warn a would-be son-in-law against her own child. 

On the other hand he felt pained by Sylvia’s repeating 
her father’s sneering remark. It was always the same 
song, the same policy she had suggested to him in the 
park : He was to betray his own artistic convictions in 
order to make money — to change his upright character 
to worship Mammon ! This thought came to him : 
Happy the man whose wife has neither father nor 
mother, neither brothers nor sisters, neither wealth nor 
ambition, a wife without everything — except the love of 
her husband. 

Unconsciously the image of the fair orphan arose 
before his mind’s eye. He had not seen her again, but 
he had thought of her often. She had gone to Punkin- 
ton, and since that time she had not been heard of. Was 
she happy there ? She was so unpretending, so grate- 
ful ! He had not spoken of her to his betrothed, follow- 
ing Mrs. Lehman’s wise counsel. 

In the meantime dancing was going on, and in the other 
rooms circles were formed, as people met who had this 
or that social feature in common. Among the guests 
were many eminent men, scholars and artists, soldiers 
and sailors, deputies and diplomats. In the last of a 
long suite of rooms, farthest from the ball-room, a circle 
of elderly ladies and gentlemen had taken refuge, and 
were here busy discussing great and grave questions of 
Art, Science and Politics. They were in the midst of a 
discussion which threatened to become almost violent in 
speech as in argument, when all of a sudden a strange 
stillness fell upon the circle. The merry noise of the 
great assembly all at once ceased to be heard, then the 
music also stopped, the dancers, still arm in arm, paused, 
and everybody whispered and asked, but no answer 


A BROKEN REED. 


U7 


came to allay the* increasing horror. The men and 
women of the last room, who had been heated by the 
vehemence of their discussion, also rose and made their 
way towards the -ball-room, to seek an explanation of 
this sudden appalling silence. 

At that moment Mrs. Clara Steelyard came rushing 
into the room, and hastening with burning cheeks to her 
husband, she cried 4 “Amadeus has been thrown by his 
horse and has broken his neck !” Then in a whisper she 
added, close to his ear, “We and the Comets are the 
nearest heirs !” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A BROKEN REED. 

Lieutenant Steelyard’s heart was divided ; one half was 
happy, but the other half was full of care and anxiety. 
He was happy because the famous artist, Chessa Molini, 
had 'shown herself gracious to him — unhappy, because 
his debts were growing at a fearful rate. Since that 
evening when he had mainly kept the enraged Arab from 
injuring the great singer, the bond of intimacy that bound 
him and the beauty to each other had been tightening 
daily. He was often admitted to her inner domesticity, 
and to hear in advance, at home, the magnificent com- 
positions which she proposed to play before the great 
public. Alfonse understood music. He could converse 
with her intelligently as to many a concealed beauty that 
had escaped her, and, if need be, he could even accompany 
her on the piano when she practised at home. In the 
affair of the necklace, also, she asked Alfonse’s advice, 
and he made several happy suggestions. She engaged 


148 


A BROKEN REED. 


therefore, a distinguished lawyer, and met the accusations 
of the interpreter with the simple assertion that she knew 
nothing of what he claimed. Still, she kept her trans- 
actions with her lawyer even from Alfonse, taking no one 
into her confidence. The Dragoman was very generally 
blamed for having caused such a public scandal, espe- 
cially as he sought to shelter himself under diplomatic 
privileges. He was recalled shortly after and sent to 
Washington, and there were people who thought the sud- 
den and great change in the climate might have affected 
his mind. 

What the Senorita herself thought of the whole affair 
could not be ascertained, for she and her devoted 
Spanish servant preserved the most absolute silence, 
and only expressed their indignation at the brutality of 
the Arab whenever the topic was touched in their 
presence. The artist seemed also to be unaware of her 
connection with the Liondell family, and if poor Ama- 
deus had been more clear-sighted in this direction, it 
was because he knew so much of her past history, of 
which the wild, Cuban girl had, of course, remained 
ignorant. To him, therefore, the Arab’s statement sounded 
quite natural, although he thought it better not to betray 
his intimate knowledge. Chessa, on her side, never 
uttered the name of Liondell. She maintained her 
assertion that she was a Molini from Barcelona, and as 
her papers supported this statement, no doubts were 
entertained. Alfonse believed every word she said ; for 
Alfonse loved her ! 

But this love gave him much trouble, caused him much 
pain, plunged him into many even greater embarrassments, 
and he ground his teeth when he found the poetry of his 
heart clogged by the poverty of his purse. He was, as 
yet, the most favored of all the worshipers at Chessa’s 
altar, but, to do this, he had to lead the same life as she 


A BROKEN REED. 


149 


did, and alas ! this life was fearfully expensive ! All his 
rivals were rich young men, who either had, or hoped for, 
large fortunes. They dined daily at the fashionable 
hotel in which the singer had her rooms ; supper was 
every day ordered at one or the other first-class restau- 
rants, baskets of champagne, very dry and very dear, 
gigantic bouquets of rarest roses and orchids, carriages 
and horses — all these things were looked upon, not as 
luxuries, but as matters of daily expenditure, as needful 
as the light of the sun and the air they breathed. But the 
admirers of the Spanish lady noticed that she appreciated 
such evidences of their devotion with special gratitude as 
possessed an intrinsic value, and soon began to vie with 
each other in making her more substantial presents. 
Even the most gorgeous bouquets of rarest flowers, had, 
in her eyes, a more personal value if they concealed in 
the centre a bracelet or a brooch, a medallion, or some 
other souvenir adorned with precious stones. 

Alfonse could not alone refuse her such offerings, for 
his influence with her would have suffered sorely. He 
was not a prince like Lignac, who never made her a 
present — he was a prince and that was enough. His 
mere appearance in her box at the theatre, or in her 
suite at a concert was honor enough, and counted for 
many a precious present. But not so with the others, who 
belonged to the common herd of mankind ; they were 
appreciated in precise proportion to the offerings they 
could bring to her altar. Alfonse found one day with 
horror, that he had spent in six weeks’ courtship at the 
feet of the artist, more than his pay of two years. 

His name was mentioned in the best circles, and 
appeared in the newspapers always as one of the best 
and highest in society. That was some compensation. 
People who went to church and read the Bible, never 
condemned the children of this world who in their 


150 


A BROKEN REED. 


frivolity broke the laws of God and of man, without 
including him among those who were very bad, so that 
the hearts of all the innocent young maidens beat high 
when he appeared. This was satisfaction, no doubt, and 
Alfonse enjoyed it hugely — nevertheless he would have 
enjoyed it better yet if some one had offered to pay his 
debts. 

One morning towards six o’clock as he came home, his 
father, who was an early riser, called him into his study. 
He followed him, feeling rather uncomfortable. He had 
always felt the inconvenience of living under his parents’ 
roof, but, so far, the tangible advantages had outweighed 
the drawbacks. 

“Well, my dear Alfonse,” said Doctor Steelyard, “ I 
hope you are a very happy man.” 

“ How do you mean ?” asked Alfonse. 

“Well, you seem to amuse yourself royally, since you 
spend the whole night in your entertainments.” 

“ We had a little dance which lasted till two or three, 
and then we sat together, drinking a glass of beer, and I 
could not well get away without appearing unsociable.” 

“ Why, my dear young friend,” said the old man, “ no 
need for excuses. I do not blame you in the least that 
you enjoy life. Every one of us tries to make existence 
as pleasant as we can, and I confess frankly, if it gave me 
more pleasure to dance and drink at night than to sleep, 
I would do it also.” 

Alfonse smiled, but it was a forced smile ; he did not 
trust the peaceful aspect. 

“Tastes differ,” continued the father quietly. “ Many 
men care only for pleasure, others for hard work, and 
tastes even vary with the different ages, so that the man 
who was wildest in youth often becomes the hardest 
worker when he grows old. But nobody can tell what 
is the end of the whole story, and Solomon certainly was 


A BROKEN REED. 


151 


right in his saying, that the wise man and the fool all 
fare alike.” 

“ Cum grano salts ,” said Alfonse, “although my mind 
is just now hardly clear enough to explain that to you 
accurately. Only, I wish you would not think that my 
life is wholly made up of amusement. If I could gain 
anything by hard work you would soon see me try it, but 
as it is, it matters not in the least what I do, if I only do 
my duty, and that I never neglect.” 

Alfonse understood his father very well, and saw that 
he was trying to make him feel how wearisome and 
unprofitable such a life must needs be for any one who 
was not content to remain unknown and useless in the 
world. He felt in his heart that he was dissatisfied with 
his own life and unhappy ; his former cheerfulness had 
left him entirely. Now his old father rose, and putting 
his hand on his shoulder, looked at him long and 
earnestly. There was such kindness in the way this was 
done that Alfonse caught at his father’s other hand, 
pressed it affectionately, and looked him frankly in the 
face. And when the old man told him how he felt for 
his child, Alfonse could no longer resist, but told him all, 
and confessed that a heavy burden was weighing him 
down, a very considerable debt. “ If I were lucky 
enough to get rid of my debts,” he said, “ I would begin 
an entirely new life. These balls and parties and con- 
certs by no means amuse me so supernaturally that I 
could not readily live without them, if I were but a free 
man. I cannot expect that you would pay such an 
enormous sum for me, but if you could help me to find 
a way out I should be immensely obliged to you. I 
should never again go into debt !” 

“That reminds me of the story of the wise Memnon,” 
said the old father, “ as Voltaire tells it. I am not a 
blind admirer of Voltaire’s— the lower part of his fore- 


152 


A BROKEN REED. 


head was imperfectly developed — nevertheless we can 
learn much of him. This Memnon of his was a rich, 
handsome young man, who one morning resolved never 
again to commit a folly, and thus to be forever happy. 
In the course of the day many things happened to him 
that may happen to the best of us, and when he reached 
home at a late hour of night, he was drunk, disgraced at 
court, had lost his whole fortune, and moreover was 
short of one eye.” 

Alfonse smiled, for his father had evidently meant thus 
to tell him that he also had been merely the victim of 
what might befall every one and any one. He felt at once 
in better humor, and gave his father now a detailed 
account of his position, including his hopes and his ap- 
prehensions. Only of his attachment to the Spanish 
singer he did not venture to speak, and tried to think of 
it as too trifling a matter to be mentioned in such a con- 
fession. 

The father spoke gently to his son, reminding him 
that his debts amounted to more than his parents could 
possibly raise without exposing themselves in their 
old age to privations which would be hard to endure. 
But these debts, he said, are worse still for the young 
man himself, who thus has accustomed himself to a tri- 
fling manner of life. • 

“I could make you free,” he concluded, “but 1 have no 
certainty that you will not return to the same way of 
living as long as you remain in a position which daily 
exposes you to new temptations. You are not the man 
to be severe to yourself, and to adhere rigidly and sternly 
to your resolves. Why did you enter the army ? I was 
opposed to it — always !” 

“Am I worse than others ?” cried Alfonse, with flash- 
ing eyes. “ Is no one capable of being a gentleman whose 
grandmother was not already a perfect lady ? I often 


A BROKEN REED. 


153 


encounter a certain coldness in military circles. I at 
least want to forget the blood in my veins !” 

“ Nothing less than that will satisfy you ?” said the old 
man, with a smile of ineffable bitterness. “You mean to 
restore the Jewish people in the estimation of your com- 
rades and your society ? My son, that is a dream — even 
as a dream impossible. On the other hand, I will show 
You a way that will suit you better, and is at least feas- 
ible.” 

He next proceeded to point out to Alfonse the joy and 
the happiness which follow a fixed amount of work, in 
which industry and skill meet their reward, without con- 
tinually bringing about more or less friction, arising from 
the difference in race and in early training, and then he in- 
vited him to leave the army and to accept a desk in the 
counting-house of a friend in London as correspondent. 

Alfonse was surprised, but not distressed. His first 
feeling was that it would be pleasant to begin something 
entirely new. He liked change. The next was regret 
at leaving the Spaniard. Then he wavered between the 
pro and the contra of the offer. But the certainty, not 
openly declared, but just as clearly understood, that his 
father would not pay his debts except on this condition, 
and the conviction that his present calling did not fully 
suit him, and the conviction finally of his father’s good- 
ness and wisdom, triumphed in the end. 

He promised to resign from the army and to go to 
London. In the meantime the breakfast hour had 
approached, and he took his coffee with his parents and 
the younger children. Here he told them of his conver- 
sation with the father. Mrs. Clara raised her hands to 
Heaven and exclaimed : 

“ There is your father as he lives and has his being ! 
Oh, Alfonse, Alfonse ! what I have suffered through him 
in my life, you will never, never know it l When I think 


154 


A BROKEN REED. 


of my sister-in-law, Rachel, and what a part she plays 
in the great world, and how well she is off ! She sits, 
and chats with the wives of Privy Councilors, and what- 
ever she w'ants she has ! What have I ? No friends, no 
acquaintances ! Not that I complain of my husband — 
far from it ! — but there never lived a man with so little 
respect for himself, so little ambition for his family. You 
are to send in your resignation, after having passed 
through the war honorably and safely; now, after having 
been ordered to attend the lectures at the War Academy t 
My boy, that is nonsense ! That must not be ! No man 
in his senses will throw away what has cost him twenty 
years’ hard service. To jump from one profession into 
another is always a blunder, for one is not better than 
the other, and we only cast away what we have gained 
in the first. But your father never was satisfied with 
your being an officer, — it cost me hard work to get his 
consent. He thinks because he himself does not care 
for distinction, other people ought to do the like. But I 
am proud of you, Alfonse, and I will not have it that 
you lay aside your uniform. I was so happy when I 
saw you for the first time in it ! — and then when you 
safely returned from the war, and adorned with the 
Iron Cross ! That was the greatest joy I ever had in my 
life !” 

The tears were racing down her wrinkled cheeks, and 
Alfonse kissed her tenderly. 

“ It is as yet only a project, dear mamma,” he said. 

“ Nothing is decided yet.” 

“Your father is a great man, Alfonse,” she continued, 

“ but like all great men he has his peculiarities. We 
must not mind them. His greatest defect is that he has 
no ambition. I tell you he might be rich and famous, 
for he knows more than most of those men who rise to 


A BROKEN REED. 


155 


honor and wealth. But he laughs at everybody and at 
everything, and does not care what becomes of us.” 

“ The mischief however, is, my dear mamma, that I 
owe two thousand dollars !” 

“ What !” said his mother, “ and for that sum you will 
abandon a brilliant career ? It is a big sum, Alfonse, for 
our circumstances, and you are much to blame that you 
have acted so recklessly. But since it is done, we must 
see how we can pay it. You must resolutely make up 
your mind never hereafter to spend one dollar beyond 
what you receive. That is the fundamental law of sound 
economy.” 

“ It is a terrible thought for me to cost you so much 
money, and to compel you to submit to so many priva- 
tions.” 

“ We must try to find a way out. Your father need 
not know anything about it. The main point is that you 
remain in the army, and keep up your acquaintance with 
all the great people whom you know. I should like so 
much if you could remain here in Berlin and be attached 
to the person of some great prince or general. One 
must be here at the centre to be noticed and promoted. 
If you are once lost in the big crowd, nobody thinks of 
you. As to the money, don’t you trouble yourself. I’ll 
manage that. We are, besides, the Liondell heirs now, 
since poor Amadeus has broken his neck. Uncle Lion- 
dell cannot live much longer, although I most sincerely 
wish him a very long life. It would be consummate folly 
to resign now and become a little clerk. Never mind 
the money, Alfonse. I tell you I take charge of that ! 
You are clever, my son, and have everything that makes 
the officer. You must be a general if all goes right.” 

“ That is so !” replied Alfonse. “ I also think it would 
be unwise to change my calling. But can you really get 
the money, mother dear ?” 


156 


THE MARIONETTES AND THE WIRES. 


“ I shall get it from Uncle Baldwin or from Uncle 
Liondell. One of the two will surely give it to me. 
Only — do not think of leaving the army — do you hear ?” 

“I promise, mother dear,” he said, and kissed her. 
“ Oh, Chessa,” he sighed, “ you cost me dear.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE MARIONETTES- AND THE WIRES. 

Baron Simon Liondell had aged sadly in the few weeks 
since the terrible death of his dearly beloved only child, 
and fully justified the prophetic warning of his niece, 
Clara Steelyard. The life in his eyes, the comfortable 
repose in all his motions, had disappeared. He sat for 
hours brooding over financial reports, and his voice was 
but rarely heard now in the telephones that radiated 
from his seat at the table. He looked pale, emaciated, 
and his hair had turned white. 

“My son told me a day before his death,” he said to 
Count Henning, whom he had begged to come and see 
him, “ that he wished I held no mortgage on your lands. 
My son was sad that day, but he spoke with great love of 
your daughter Hyacinth.” 

Two lonely tears stole forth from the weary eyes of 
the poor old gentleman. The count seized his hand and 
pressed it cordially. 

“ I wish that my son shall have cherished no wish that 
was not gratified,” continued the banker, “and I have 
requested you to come to me, count, because I have to tell 
you that I no longer hold any mortgage on your prop- 
erty/’ 


THE MARIONETTES AND THE WIRES. 


157 


The count looked up amazed. 

“ Here are the papers,” said the old man. “ I put them 
into your hands. Your castle and your acres are free of 
any burden.” 

The count, colorless and with fast-beating heart, took 
the documents which the banker moved from the table 
and held out to him. They were the certificates of debts 
which had furnished the first cause for the betrothal of 
his daughter to the unfortunate young man. For a mo- 
ment he could not seize the matter ; he did not at once 
measure the bearing of this simple act. 

Thus he stood for a minute, silent and undecided. At 
last he realized it. The old man wished to testify to his 
grief for his son in the most dignified manner. 

“Your daughter, Hyacinth, has mourned for my son 
Amadeus. She is a good girl. She has loved my child. 
Amadeus loved her dearly, that I know. I only act in 
his name and commission if I release the father’s in- 
debtedness. Take the papers home with you, count, or 
put them into the fire. The debt is paid !” 

“Noble soul !” said the count, and looked at the poor 
old man with tearful eyes. But his pride did not allow 
him to accept the gift. He put the papers back on the 
table, and seizing both of the banker’s hands, he said : 

“ My friend, I thank you ! I am as grateful to you as 
if I had accepted this enormous present, and I rejoice 
unspeakably to meet with such nobility of sentiment in 
a world that is so replete with egotism. But I cannot 
accept your present.” 

“ Do not look at it as a present. Consider it a legacy 
left you by my son, whose executor I am, and erect a 
marble image of the young man among the statues of 
your ancestors in your hereditary castle.” 

“ It cannot be replied the count, after a pause. 


158 


THE MARIONETTES AND THE WIRES. 


The banker’s face darkened and he cast a sombre look 
at his visitor. 

“ Do not misunderstand me,” said the count. “ I am 
very grateful to you for your kind intentions, but I can- 
not accept a present for which I can make no return. 
The sense of such an obligation would crush me, A 
nobleman can accept presents only from his sovereign,” 
He rose to his full height, bowed his noble head low 
before the poor old man, who had sunk back into his 
wide arm-chair, and said : “ Your son’s monument shall 
stand in my castle,” putting his arm around the sorrow- 
ing father’s shoulders, “and in my heart there stands 
already an imperishable memorial of your noble generos- 
ity. God has not willed it that our families should be 
united, but we are bound to each other in the esteem I 
cherish for you, and in the sympathy created within us 
by a common calamity. I hope w'e shall be friends in 
the evening of our lives !” 

The banker seized his visitor’s hands, and as he looked 
up to him tears dimmed his vision. 

“ Hyacinth,” said the count, when he returned home 
late, “ I have been pleased to see that Count Eyry has of 
late been here but rarely. This shows a tact which 1 
appreciate. I hope you will make it permanent. I wish 
that we live in perfect retirement during the time of our 
mourning.” 

“ Count Eyry has just sent me a telegram stating that 
he has asked for leave of absence to join a Russian ex- 
pedition on the Caspian Sea.” 

“So much the better !” replied the count. 

During the same hours the banker had an interview 
with his lawyer. This eminent man, renowned for his 
marvelous knowledge of man and his keen insight into 
the most hidden things, was reporting to the old baron 
the further results of his investigation in the history of 


THE MARIONETTES AND THE WIRES. 


159 


the Liondell family. The old banker had long since 
adopted his son’s opinion that Chessa was the daughter 
of his brother who perished in Cuba, and in dark hours 
he had actually fancied that his son’s death might be the 
penalty inflicted upon him for having left his own 
brother’s child so long unacknowledged. And yet, he 
was bound, in such a matter, to proceed cautiously, and, 
after all, Amadeus might be mistaken. But now the 
report of the advocate confirmed this view in every point. 
Chessa herself, driven hard by the cunning lawyer, had at 
last acknowledged of her own freewill that she was born 
in Cuba, the daughter of Benjamin Liondell. Of her rela- 
tives in Europe she knew nothing, her ignorance of Ger- 
man having left her even yet ignorant of the existence of 
the rich Baron Liondell. 

The latter was, unlike his former habit, at a loss what 
to do. The blow he had received when the hope and 
the consolation of his old age were at once taken from 
him, had paralyzed his will-power. He was inclined to 
send for his niece, to take her in his arms and to adopt 
her as his own child ; but then there arose before his 
mind’s eye the stern refusal of his son to agree to this 
step, and he could not do anything that was so repugnant 
to his beloved son. At last he resolved to choose a middle 
way, that might comply with what was due to his brother’s 
memory and serve at the same time to protect the pride 
and the wealth of the family. He was confirmed in this 
view by the statement of the lawyer that the artist had 
gathered around her a circle of admirers, among whom 
Prince Lignac was the most prominent. He sent for 
him to consult with him on a question concerning his 
property, and at the same time warned the lawyer that 
he meant to make a new will. The effects of this con- 
versation were soon perceived in those circles in which 
the two parties were best known ; first of all by the artist 


160 


THE MARIONETTES AND THE WIRES. 


herself and by her faithful admirer, Alfonse, who had 
returned to his worship with renewed zeal and fervor 
since he had a prospect of seeing his debts paid. 

“Why so sober, my beautiful one?” he asked her one 
afternoon, as he was about to accompany her on the 
piano, and she dreamily leant on the instrument and 
looked at him with her burning black eyes. 

“ I am thinking.” 

“ And of what, if I may ask ?” 

She would not tell him. She sighed and went to the 
window, watching the passers-by, and glancing at an 
album that was lying in her lap. Alfonse looked over her 
shoulder. What a series of various faces ! 

“Were you also in Lydia and Moesia, in Persia and 
Pamphylia ?” he asked. 

“ Very near,” she replied. 

“ Who is this man with the long nose and the Chinese 
eyes ?” 

“This man ? That is Count Lewin, Intendant of the 
Italian Opera in St. Petersburg !” 

“ How did he get into your album ?” 

“ I was there and sang on trial.” 

“ You never told me !” 

“ It was only for a very short time. Oh ! if you could 
see St. Petersburg, my dear friend, you would open your 
eyes ! There things are very different from here.” 

Alfonse smiled weakly and felt an attack of jealousy. 

She closed the album and put it aside. Then she asked : 
“What is your religion ?” 

He replied, “I think the Berlin religion !” 

“Do not talk so wickedly,” she said, and beat him on 
the cheek with her fan. “ Tell me at once !” 

“I have a desperate religion; I worship the goddess 
Chessa.” 


THE MARIONETTES AND THE WIRES. 1G1 

“You are intolerable ! Can’t you say a sensible word ? 
What is your religion ?” 

“Well, what is the usual religion here? I am, of 
course, a Protestant, Evangelical, or whatever you choose 
to call it.” 

“ Then you go to hell !” said Chessa. 

“ I am already there, thanks to you ! But what is your 
religion ?” 

“ I am a Catholic.” 

“ Then you go to Heaven !” 

“ Do not talk such fearful things, Alfonse ! I do not 
want to go to Heaven yet awhile. We must not say 
blasphemous things. Our Church forbids that. But tell 
me in earnest. What must I do ? Prince Lignac is a 
Catholic. What do you think of him ? You are my 
friend, tell me !” 

“What do you think of Prince Lignac? He is also a 
Catholic ? What questions are these ? What have you 
to do with the prince and with the Catholic Church ?” 

“ I might marry a Catholic.” 

“ Marry ! Whom are you going to marry ?” Alfonse 
almost roared. 

“Great Heavens ! No one !” replied the artist. “The 
thing is this : the prince has declared himself, and I 
do not know what to do ! I am a stranger here and do 
not know the country. I know nothing. Is 1^ a rich 
prince ? Is he a prince at all ? Go away ! You are an 
ugly man !” 

She broke out in tears, and hid her face as far as the 
wee bit of a handkerchief permitted, which mostly con- 
sisted of lace. But Alfonse was angry ; he pretended 
not to see it. He took up the album and stared at the 
Mongolian eyes without knowing what he saw. “You 
have sometimes strange notions, Chessa !” he said after 
a long interval, as the singer continued to sob. 


162 


THE MARIONETTES AND THE WIRES. 


“ I have not a single friend,” she said at last. “ They 
all treat me badly, and so do you ; — just like them. But 
I did not expect it of you. ’ 

The two quarreled for sometime, till at last the artist’s 
good sense prevailed, and the conversation turned into 
more sensible channels. She confessed that she was 
strongly inclined to accept the prince’s offer, if she only 
knew that she could safely do so. Was he a real prince ? 
And had he really a large fortune ? It looked as if her 
experience in life had not been favorable to princes gen- 
erally. Then she gave him her reasons. 

“ Singing,” she said, “ is a good profession, but it is risky. 
Sickness, an accident, a mere cold, may upset it all. To 
marry this Prince Lignac is the best chance that fate has 
yet held out to me, provided always he is really the grand 
seigneur he professes to be.” She begged, therefore, her 
friend Alfonse to be her adviser in this serious matter, 
especially as she was such an utter stranger here and did 
not speak a word of German. 

Alfonse was astonished, and wondered and wondered. 
Perhaps, if he had known of the interview between the 
Spaniard and the old banker’s agent, he might have been 
less, surprised. But she did not tell him a word of that. 
She feared she might produce an unfavorable impression 
upon Alfonse if he discovered that she was a Cuban by 
birth, and he might possibly believe even the fabulous 
story of the Turkish interpreter. 

When he at last found out that she was really in earn- 
est, and that a union between her and Prince Lignac was 
really contemplated, he rose, took his helmet and sword, 
stepped, with fury in his eyes, before the terrified 
woman, and bade her farewell forever ! He told her in 
fiery words that she was a heartless being to expect of 
him assistance in her plans, that he had of course no 
claims on her love, that on the contrary he had always 


THE MARIONETTES AND THE WIRES. 


163 


known that the auctioneer was the only man fit to dis- 
pose of her heart, and then he marched out, more wretched 
than he had ever dreamt he could be. He had no sooner 
breathed more freely upon being relieved of the terrible 
burden of his debts, when fate sent him this greater grief 
to bear ! 

He quarreled bitterly with fate. He had so much tal- 
ent for art, so much love for all that was beautiful, such 
benevolence for all created beings, such a keen intellect, 
such genuine devotion to Science ! And yet, withal, he 
was a poor little lieutenant, who could not profit by all 
these noble qualifications. Ought he not to have had a 
father who could have given him, say, twenty thousand 
a year ? Was there a man living who would have made 
better use of that amount than he ? He woulcf have been 
Maecenas to all that was great and beautiful and holy, 
and — he would have married the great prima donna 
Molini. 

u But to him that hath shall be given,” sneered he to 
himself, and went to a club where he knew he would 
meet at this hour a score of half-drunk artists, drank in 
despair two bottles of wines, played baccarat, lost all the 
money he had and twice as much upon his word. of 
honor, and at four in the morning he went perfectly 
furious to bed, but not to sleep. 

The Spaniard on her part, had spent an hour at least, 
remaining motionless in the same chair, sunk in medita- 
tion, and then she had written a note to Baron Liondell’s 
lawyer, requesting him to call on her at his earliest con- 
venience. She wanted to know why he had questioned 
her so closely about her Cuban history, and at the same 
time ascertain Prince Lignac’s actual status in society. 

At the same hour the prince was in the rooms of his 
friend, Count Eyry, who was superintending the packing 
of his field equipage, after having that morning received 


164 


THE MARIONETTES AND THE WIRES. 


a telegram from the Russian Minister of War which 
ordered him to proceed at once and without delay to the 
headquarters of General Skobeleff in Orenburg. 

He was examining his Colt’s navy pistol, and listened, 
without moving a feature, to his friend’s announcement 
of his engagement to the fair Spanish artist. 

“ Why do you not wish me joy ?” asked the prince. 

“I do congratulate you,” said the count. 

“ But do you approve of my choice ?” he asked next. 

“ My dear Lignac, you have a habit that is not rare 
among men. You do what you like to do, and then you 
come and ask advice !” 

“ Let me tell you one thing, my dear friend, the matter 
lies deeper^than the world can see ; you would be aston- 
ished to hear that the Molini in reality is a Liondell, the 
millionaire’s own neice. Till our wedding takes place, 
however, this is to remain a secret.” 

“ My good prince, I have long since ceased to be sur- 
prised,” said the other, put the pistol in its case, and 
tried the sharp edge of his heavy cavalry sword. 

“Then you will not wonder, also,” continued the 
prince, “when I tell you that my finances are quite glad 
to be reinforced by the step I am going to take. I have 
my hotel in Paris, I have my estates in Normandy, I 
have both an old and a new castle here in Germany, but 
all that costs a sum to maintain. We poor noblemen, 
who do not continue to add to our fortune, naturally 
grow poorer from year to year, and with some of us the 
deluge will not even wait till after us. The revenues 
which made my grandfather a rich man at Versailles, 
are not half the same in my life-time, and hardly enable 
me to live. I economize as I can — here in Berlin I live 
as a bachelor at a hotel ; I have hardly any servants, and 
keep only three or four horses — and yet I find it hard to 
make both ends meet. Hence I find a good match 


THE MARIONETTES AND THE WIRES. 


165 


• 

acceptable, and old Liondell promises to provide lib- 
erally for this young lady, who is his niece beyond all 
doubt.” 

“ But why must it needs be a Spanish singer ?” 

“ But I thought I told you she is a Liondell, and not a 
Molini !” 

“ So much the worse !” 

Why that ?” 

“I should not have thought you would continue the 
grand old Lighac race in a line of mules.” 

“ My dear Victor, I confess I cannot understand how 
a man who stands at the very highest summit of modern 
views of soeiety, can still cling to such mediaeval preju- 
dices ! What does it mean when anybody speaks of the 
purity of his blood ? Does he say that the blood in 
noble veins is better than that which flows in other 
bodies? Blood is blood. Besides, I am a French citi- 
zen, and our code does not know what mesalliance 
means.” 

“And that she is a Jewess, what of that?” 

“A Jewess ? And you really mention that in speaking 
of my marriage ?” 

“Yes, I do, and very seriously, my dear Lignac. The 
question is a grave one. You may laugh, you may rage, 
but you cannot get over that stumbling block. She is a 
Jewess if she is a Liondell.” 

“ I deny that, my dear Victor. She is not a Jewess. 
Chessa was baptized ten years ago or more. She is a 
Catholic.” 

“ Oh,” said the captain, with a peculiar tone of voice, 
“she is a Catholic. Well, that changes the position! 
To be sure — a Catholic !” 

“ I am sorry to see that you ascribe so little power to 
the baptizing water, my- dear Victor! But even if you 
should be right, why must a Jewess needs be worse 


166 


A PERILOUS LOVE. 


than any other lady ? It seems to me this unfortunate 
race has suffered enough, moving continually up and 
down this earth of ours, that we in our day must begin 
once more to persecute them. I should think they were 
entitled to our pity and compassion, instead of being 
hated, persecuted and despised.” 

“ If those are your views, my dear Lignac, you had bet- 
ter marry your Chessa. My views differ. I hate Jews 
because they crucified my Saviour, but I think there must 
have been, from the beginning, something repulsive 
about them, or they would not have been so systemati- 
cally disliked and ill-treated by the world in all ages.” 

The prince shrugged his shoulders. He had exhausted 
his arguments, and as usual, neither of the two dispu- 
tants was convinced. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A PERILOUS LOVE. 

Mr. Comet was on his way to his pale, passionate lady 
friend, who had recently returned from a protracted 
visit to the seashore, when, to his astonishment, her hus- 
band, Baron Blank, himself opened the door. The two 
gentlemen had not seen each other since his departure 
to the coast. Baron Blank generally avoided meeting 
Mr. Comet, as he believed that the man who pleased the 
wife was by no means always the man who also pleased 
the husband. He went his way and let his wife go her 
way. This it was that surprised the financier so greatly 
to-day. Still the host invited him most courteously to 
walk into his room, gave him an excellent cigar, and 
spoke pleasantly of the weather and the opera. The 


A PERILOUS LOVE. 


167 


financier came to the conclusion that the baron wanted to 
borrow money, and wondered how much it would be ? 
But this time he was mistaken. 

“ Do you know Prince Lignac ?” asked the baron. 

“ Not personally.” 

“ If you like it, I will present you. He is in my wife’s 
rooms now. A very amiable, very interesting man. We 
became acquainted last spring at the Alliance Club, that 
night when the scandal with the Turkish dragoman took 
place. It happened so that we met again this summer 
at the seaside, where we saw much of each other. It 
was a pity you were not there too.” 

“ My physician had sent me to Carlsbad.” 

There followed a pause in the conversation. 

“ Has he been long there ?” asked Mr. Comet. 

“ Nearly two hours,” replied his host, after having 
studied the clock carefully. 

Another pause. 

“ Where do you buy your tobacco ?” asked the states- 
man. 

“Do you like my cigars ?” 

“ It is a pleasant, mild leaf, so that I am almost sorry 
to give up the cigar. But I should like to make the ac- 
quaintance of the prince. He is very popular.” 

Baron Blank rang a bell. “ Go to your mistress,” he 
told the servant who entered, “ and ask her if she would 
receive us.” 

The man returned with the answer that she would be 
very happy to see them both. 

“Then come !” said the baron, and the two gentlemen 
went to the lady’s part of the house. 

The great statesman was in a most excitable state of 
mind. He had a vague feeling that things were no long- 
er as they had been. He had often been here when no 
such ceremonies had been deemed necessary, and he 


168 


A PERILOUS LOYE. 


knew enough^ of Prince Lignac to consider his intimacy 
at the seashore and his two hours’ visit rather suspicious. 
This made him feel more and more strongly that his re- 
lations to Lily were not of a nature to give him much 
pleasure. In fact they had become well nigh intolerable 
since she had begun to worry about her daughter’s ad- 
dress. He determined to break with her. But he had 
done so before, and again and again some fatality had 
come between him and his resolve. He, the energetic 
man, had no energy when confronting a woman. But 
to-day Fate seemed to be propitious. The name of the 
prince made his blood course rapidly ; like a flash of 
lightning it flew through his mind that to-day he must 
avail himself of the opportunity ; to-day, when at last 
the right was on his side. 

The fair lady lay in her favorite position, fully extend- 
ed on a purple velvet chaise-longue , her head resting on her 
fine hand, and the prince was seated near her. She did 
not rise, but welcomed the new-comers by a gesture of 
the hand. The prince, however, rose most courteously 
and bowed, sympathizing at once most feelingly with 
Mr. Comet on account of the tragic loss of his kinsman, 
Amadeus. He said he would never be able to forgive 
himself for having sold that wild horse to the young 
man, thus causing, though unintentionally, the terrible 
calamity. 

Mr. Comet deprecated any such responsibility, and the 
conversation soon drifted into a variety of channels, 
though all felt that there was something unknown at 
work, which might at any moment cause an explosion. 
They discussed thus also a portrait of a young girl which 
Lily had bought that morning from an art dealer, and 
which now was standing on a chair near the prince. 

“ It is a face which has a truly wonderful charm for 
me,” she said. “ It attracted me at the first glance.” 


A PERILOUS LOYE. 


169 


“Whose work is it ?” asked the prince. 

“ The name ‘ Lehman ’ stands here in the corner — an 
unknown artist. But the picture is such a happy one 
that I feel tempted to predict for the painter a brilliant 
future.” 

“ I almost fancy I see a resemblance to you,” said the 
prince. “ There is something in the whole expression 
and the shape of the brow.” 

The prince noticed that she seemed not to care for 
compliments in Mr. Comet’s presence, and so he turned 
the conversation to another subject. 

“ I look with admiration at your cat,” he said, passing 
his soft hand over the glossy fur of the creature, who 
acknowledged the caress with a soft purring. “ I have 
seldom seen such a magnificent animal — and so intelli- 
gent. It reminds me of one of my great, great, great- 
aunts, who in the wars of the Fronde had been driven 
out of a village by artillery, and yet returned through a 
hot fire to rescue a little dog of hers that had been for- 
gotten in her bed. Many people maintain that animals 
have no souls. But I differ from them. It is sheer pride. 
We want to be something better and higher than they, 
and because it is unpleasant to us that we crush our 
cousins and kinswomen between our teeth, we assert that 
they have no souls. According to my experience animals 
have minds as good as ours ; in fact, I have owned horses 
that had more sense than their riders.” 

“They must, of course, have been remarkably clever 
creatures,” observed Doctor Comet, dryly. 

“ Oh, uncommonly clever,” replied the prince. “One 
of them had actually been taught to count by my coach- 
man, and, in consequence, became a candidate for the 
post of director of a large bank in Paris ; unfortunately, 
they found oat that the animal was too honest for the 
place. How do you like Zola, baroness ?” 


170 


A PERILOUS LOVE. 


“ I think him abominable, prince,” said Lily. 

“ Is he not ?” replied the latter. “ That was my reason 
for introducing the author to you.” 

“ That !” 

“Yes, I thought you would do as all the ladies in 
France have* done. Not one of them would trust any 
man’s judgment. They must all convince themselves 
how wicked he is.” 

“ Those books ought to be prohibited,” said Baron 
Blank. “ They are immoral. It is a perfect scandal to 
see what dirty stuff that man has accumulated in his 
books.” 

“Yes,” said the prince, “that is my opinion exactly. 
Such books ought to be prohibited, for they slander soci- 
ety. Any one who reads Zola’s books, for instance, 
would imagine that good society in Paris was, just now, 
a pool of iniquity — whilst we all know that in reality it 
is the superfinest bloom of modern culture.” 

Doctor Comet listened to this conversation, which was 
spun out to great length, in impatient silence. Lily liked 
to appear in confidential familiarity with the prince, and 
showed Dr. Comet but scant courtesy. He told himself 
again and again that the crisis had come, and this was 
the day. 

When the prince rose to go to the opera, and Baron 
Blank prepared to accompany him, Comet asked Lily 
to give him a cup of tea, and settled down in the most 
comfortable of her arm-chairs. The low tea-table was 
brought in, the handsome silver service shone in the 
bright light, and the humming tea-kettle made a kind of 
running accompaniment to the broken conversation, when 
suddenly the thought flashed through his mind, — now 
is the time ! An outsider would have thought that all 
was peace and happiness in this cozy, comfortable room. 
But in Lily’s eyes there was a strange weariness and in- 


A PERILOUS LOVE. 


171 

difference, resembling the look of a beast of prey that 
seems but half awake, and in every gesture, in every 
glance of the eye that her guest received, there was a 
shade of contempt, which he felt but too keenly, accus- 
tomed as he was to watch the slightest turn of her supple 
hands, the bend of her proud neck, the play of her ever- 
stirring eyebrows, and the smallest change in the intona- 
tion of her voice. This mute trifling with him irritated 
him till he was in a quiet state of rage and entirely for- 
got his purpose of having a final rupture with his strange 
hostess. 

He seized the arm of his chair with a furious grasp, 
took up his tea cup, drained it, and then pushed it away 
from him, nearly letting it fall on the other side of the 
table... Lily looked at him contemptuously. As yet not 
a word had been spoken by either of them, but this look 
of hers made him lose hi's self-control completely, and he 
began to speak : 

“ How could you amuse yourself two whole hours with 
this idle talker ?” 

“Whom do you mean?” she asked, with assumed 
astonishment 

“ Prince Lignac !” he replied curtly. 

“ You think he is shallow !” 

“ Perhaps you think him deep, with his great-great 
aunt, Henrietta of France and her apocryphal cat. I can- 
not understand how one of these princes, who run about 
by the dozen all over Germany, Russia and Italy, can 
dare to speak of his royal relations ! He must think us 
great fools.” 

“Prince Lignac belongs to a very good family; his 
name is in the Almanac de Gotha,” replied Lily, with a 
cool and haughty smile which exasperated him still more. 
“He has been presented and invited at Court, and has 


172 


A PERILOUS LOVE. 


several orders which are never bestowed upon men of 
humble or doubtful origin.” 

“You seem to be very accurately informed about the 
young man ?” 

“ I always take an interest in attractive people.” 

“I know that,” he replied with bitterness. “When I 
had the honor of becoming acquainted with you, you 
were only nineteen, but if I remember right, you had even 
then already taken a deep interest in several amiable 
men. You were, as Shakespeare uncivilly says, ‘A 
morsel grown cold which I picked up from other people’s 
plates.’ ” 

Lily’s eyes glowed in low but burning fire at this new 
insult, but she knew herself, and replied in a calm tone of 
voice : “ I understand why you are angry, Baldwin. 

You are always so when you are wrong, and feel your 
own wrong.” 

“ My own wrong ?” 

“ My dear Baldwin, moderate yourself ! What we 
have to discuss can just as well be done in peace. You 
are tired of me — I have noticed that for some time 
already. You like to play with love, but not with 
serious, earnest love, because you love no one seriously 
but yourself. You treat me badly, hoping that thus I 
also will tire of you; and if I must confess the truth, your 
remedy has had the desired effect. I am tired of you ! ” 

“ Only one little question,” he said after a short pause, 
“have you formed a love-affair with this young prince ?” 

She was standing on the opposite side of the table, and 
raising herself to her full height, and with a sharp, 
dagger-like look, she said, “Yes !” 

“ And you are not ashamed to say that to my face ?” 
“No !” 

In the consciousness that now at last the great mo- 
ment, so long hoped for and yet so greatly dreaded, had 


A PERILOUS LOVE. 


173 


come, a bodily pain seized his heavily-laboring brains. 
Would she again call him back ? He hoped she would, 
but his mind was made up. He stood immovable for 
a moment — then he seized his hat, bowed, and went to 
the door. 

This time she did not follow him. 

When his steps were heard no longer, she lay down, 
drew the little stand nearer to her, poured out a tiny 
cup of her strong tea, and took up Nana, which the prince 
had given her as the last news from the great capital of 
the world. 

But her mind refused to follow the eye, as it ran over 
line after line. A smile of victorious joy illumined her 
face. Doctor Comet, in the meantime, walked through 
the cool, windy streets towards his house, and the farther 
he removed himself from Lily’s house, the freer he felt 
and the lighter was his heart. 

He could hardly comprehend why he had so long post- 
poned this blissful act, this health-bringing operation ! 
Although no words had been spoken, he felt quite sure 
of having broken the bridges behind him — a raging tor- 
rent of unpardonable insults parted them forever ! He 
complimented himself on his diplomatic prowess. “ It is 
really remarkable,” he said to himself, “how easily I can 
dissolve difficult and* intricate combinations, when I once 
make up my mind. In this state of beatitude he reached 
home, where his family, reinforced by one of his sons-in- 
law and his wife, were just sitting down to supper. They 
were greatly astonished to see him at this hour, as he 
was generally so constantly absorbed in business of the 
very highest importance that he but very rarely took his 
meals at home. They were glad, besides, to find him 
unusually cheerful. He was in good humor, quite talk- 
ative, made jokes, laughed aloud, and actually honored 
Rachel with a caress, patting her shoulder with the tips 


174 


A PERILOUS LOVE. 


of two fingers, so that she came near dropping a plate 
from sheer astonishment. 

He slept admirably all night through, arose quite early, 
breakfasted with his wife and Sylvia, patiently listening 
to Rachel’s pious wishes and admonitions concerning the 
impending decease of Uncle Liondell, and then drove to 
the Ministry. From there he went to his Bank, where 
his magnificently furnished apartments were already 
occupied by a numerous deputation. They were sent to 
him by a mass meeting, to present to him an address in 
which seventy of the most eminent men of the city, 
statesmen, scholars, merchants, and other leading mem- 
bers of his party, assured him of their admiration, and 
expressed their indignation at the mean and contemptible 
measures adopted by his political adversaries. 

Mr. Comet requested the deputation to express his 
hearty thanks to all the members who had signed the 
paper, appealed to them to bear him witness that all 
his efforts on earth had had but one aim — the well-being 
of the first of all nations — and then invited the deputation, 
as well as all the signers of the document, to a great 
banquet at the famous hotel “The Emperor’s Court.” 

He was in excellent humor. His position seemed to 
be more firmly established than ever. Two editors, who 
had made it their special aim to attack his financial 
operations, were now in prison paying the penalty for 
slanderous libel, and the deputation which he had just 
now received testified to the high esteem in which he 
was held by the world. 

He signed the papers which his secretaries had pre- 
pared for him, took, when this was done, a light lunch, 
with a pint of Burgundy, and lay down on a sofa to 
divert his mind by reading the Memoirs of Casanova. 

But the book had lost its interest to-day. He let it 
drop soon, and meditated once more on the happy rid- 


A PERILOUS LOVE. 


175 


dance of that dangerous woman. Still, he could not 
think of the last scene in the drama without recalling 
very forcibly the strange but irresistible beauty of that 
wonderful woman. How she stood there before him, so 
--calm, so scornful and withal so beautiful ! Why should 
she have let him go so easily ? Had she really never 
loved him in earnest ? Had he been merely one of many 
purses to be drained for her selfish purposes ? That 
thought was too irritating — it made him jump up, and 
walk up and down in the room with passionate steps. 
Did she really love that prince ? Impossible ! Her 
heart was the extinct crater of a volcano. And even if 
she did, what was it to him now ? — nothing ! 

In the richly-carved ebony secretary of his private 
room in the Bank building, he kept, in a secret compart- 
ment, his correspondence with Lily. He opened the 
drawer, pressed the springs, and took out the letters. 
There were over a hundred there, many torn, many read 
to pieces, witnesses of violent scenes and passionate 
excitement. Should he burn them? What was that? 
Oh, a photograph, taken when she was twenty. He 
gazed at it thoughtfully. 

“ What a charming creature she was !” he thought. “ j 
certainly was lucky to call her mine ! There is some- 
thing irresistibly attractive, something wonderfully 
piquant in her whole being, that I never saw in any other 
woman. I remember the time when to think of her 
made my blood boil, and my senses whirl around ; 
when I discerned her peculiar coiffure out of hundreds in 
a concert-room, at any ball, ah ! then I realized the poet’s 
fiction that her love was my w^orld.” 

He took a later likeness and compared the two. 

“ One could not say that she had lost anything, and 
still she is no longer the same. A young man might 
have preferred that slender figure — I like this matured 


176 


A PERIL0TT8 LOVE. 


roundness better. But these eyes ! Oh, these eyes ! 
What a strange mixture of unbridled audacity and bash- 
ful reserve dwells there behind those unfathomable 
eyes !” 

Just then some one knocked. A servant entered and 
brought notice that in the evening a meeting of the 
Cabinet would be held to consult on some important 
question about the taxation of real estate. Mr. Comet 
uttered a curse against real estate. 

“ If this woman had a different temper, if she were as 
gentle as she is fair, if she were soft and still and yield- 
ing, instead of harboring a demon in her bosom, I might 
have kept her. But then — I should have long since tired 
of her no doubt ! This is a queer world in which it 
seems very hard to find out what we want !” 

He took a handful of old crushed letters from the 
secret drawer and glanced over them. 

A gentle fragance exhaled from the notes, ribbons, 
dry flowers and other trifles that were contained in many* 
letters, which strangely contrasted with the stern and 
strict business character of the place. This perfume 
recalled to Comet the memories of long-past years, and 
plunged him into strange dreams. Once more the same 
perfume arose from the dark, entangled hair that cooled 
his brow, which leant against a soft, white shoulder, 
while a tender hand was caressing him ; a deep, vibrating 
voice resounded in his ear, and between the soft, 
sweet words, he heard the melodies of long-forgotten 
dances, that magically reminded him of the days of his 
youth. He read two or three of the letters. They 
made a painful impression upon him. 

He closed the drawer and walked up and down again. 

“ Many people,” he soliloquized, “ never think of love, 
and especially at my age ; the care of children, the pro- 
fession and their daily comfort, are all that troubles men. 


(J 0 (I (D [} (I 




178 


A PERILOUS LOYE. 


There is my friend Hagen ; he would declare I was 
insane were I to pour out my heart to him. He knows 
nothing but his law papers, good eating and drinking 
and a soft bed. He works all day long and at night 1 
dare say he dreams of his law-suits. Pen and ink are 
his heaven. I believe in the whole Imperial Diet there 
are not twenty of my colleagues who are still capable of 
loving. But they are dry and dull fellows with whom I 
would not like to exchange. I — I have always found love 
as necessary to me as air to breathe. I shall have here- 
after to content myself with the colder but less danger- 
ous enjoyments of honors and of wealth. There is a time 
for everything! There is a time for love and a time for 
hate — there is a time for life, and there is — no ! hold on ! 
is there a time for dying ? And yet, why do we so often 
speak of death, and yet think so rarely of death when 
we are alone ? We feel — we know — that it must come, 
but does any one of us busy, active men ever realize 
that in the midst of life we are in death ?” 

What was this ? Like an electric spark it all of a sud- 
den flashed through his mind that he was a bad man ! 
He tried to laugh at himself for harboring such a 
thought. What ! He who had done such great things 
and so much good ? But it was an evil hour. Again and 
again a doubt sprang up in his heart. Was he really a 
bad man ? It occurred to him to have heard once that bad 
people were recognized by their friends, and now he 
passed, in feverish haste, the whole list of men before his 
mind’s eye, with whom he had come in contact in his 
life, hoping to find one whom he had made happy. Alas ! 
There was not one ! He tried and tried, but he could 
not remember one !. Every one of them had suffered — 
he alone had benefited by the contact ! Had he not of- 
ten boasted, had he not made it the glory of his life, that 


A PERILOUS LOVE. 


179 


he was unsurpassed in the great Empire as an excellent, 
a superior man of business? And what did that mean, 
but that in every business transaction the advantage had 
been on his side ? How he now sighed to recall one 
occasion where he had succumbed ! And when he next 
turned from business to friendship — alas ! the result was 
the same. Not that he had not procured for one a good 
place, for another pecuniary advantages, but he had to 
confess that it had always been for a consideration. 
And what was worse, every one whom he had thus bene- 
fited, seemed to have deteriorated afterwards, was demor- 
alized or had disappeared. He had used them and 
then thrown the empty shells away ! 

With increasing tremor he discovered that he had 
injured those most grievously who had stood nearest 
to him. Either he had poisoned their mind by loose 
principles, or he had made them unhappy like his wife. 
At last Lily appeared. He breathed more freely, for he 
had not corrupted her, at least. She had been a refined 
coquette when he had learnt to know her. This thought 
roused him from his gruesome brooding, he tried to 
shake off the sickly feelings that had taken possession of 
him, and he ascribed his prostration now to the shock he 
had received yesterday. 

“ I do not make myself out better than I am, but there 
is no need, either, to paint myself worse than I am. The 
worst that can be laid to my charge is that I have no fixed 
principles, I am a perfect chameleon ; to-day I think so, 
to-morrow very differently. But people who are always 
of the same opinion are very generally donkeys, while 
clever people change as prudence commands. Besides, 
I did not make myself. My brother-in-law, Ephraim, 
who is a great scientist and an eminently learned man, 
once proved to my satisfaction that a man’s character is 
bestowed upon him at his birth in the shape of his brains. 


180 


A PERILOUS LOVE. 


Evidently the organ of idealism was in me very strongly 
developed, and that of firmness very imperfectly.” 

Mr. Comet sent for a carriage, drove an hour or two 
about in the park, changed his dress, dined with the Min- 
ister of Finance, and at night delivered a magnificent 
speech on the taxation of real estate. 

It was nine o’clock when he drove home, and instinct- 
ively he seized the string fastened to his coachman’s arm, 
and stopped at a certain corner of the street, where he 
used to alight at this hour in order to call on Lily. But 
he let the string go. “ No,” he said to himself, and drove 
home. But he was pursued by a melancholy pain in his 
heart — it was a kind of homesickness. 

On the table in his Bureau he found, as usual, a large 
number of letters, which he opened and read. But once 
more he caught himself not reading at all, but standing 
in Lily’s room, and seeing her in the arms of the prince. 
He jumped up and restlessly walked up and down. Sud- 
denly he became aware that he was still in evening cos- 
tume. He went into another room to change his dress. 
He took a more comfortable house-coat from his ward- 
robe and was on the point of putting it on when some- 
thing bright arrested his looks. 

A wave of hot blood rose to his head. It was a hair 
that was hanging on the collar of his coat. He looked 
at it. It was bright like polished bronze, and could 
belong only to one head on God’s earth, and that head 
had rested but day before yesterday on his breast ! 

“Great Heavens !” he cried, “I have not overcome it 
yet ! The old chains and fetters hold me still !” 

Lily’s slender and yet luscious form, her elastic, ele- 
gant movements, the deep, sweet tone of her voice, — all 
this appeared of a sudden once more before his mind’s 
eye, and with it that hated prince. 

“I must!” he said to himself in a low whisper, “I 


A PERILOUS LOYE. 


181 


must succumb ! My God ! My God ! She has driven 
the arrow too deep into my heart ! I shall bleed to 
death.” 

He remembered having read in his childhood some- 
thing of a woman and a tent-hammer — or was it an 
arrow ? It seemed to him it was somewhere in the 
Bible. He thought he would look up the place, and went 
to his bookcases. A Bible ! There was no Bible there ! 
He rang the bell. 

“ Bring me a Bible !” he said to the servant. “Go to 
my wife.” 

‘ My mistress says she has no Bible,” was the answer 
with which the servant returned after a prolonged 
absence. 

He went across where Sylvia and Rachel were sitting 
at work. “ What do you want with a Bible ?” asked 
Sylvia. She as well as her mother was astonished to see 
him at home, and still more so at his curious question. 

“ I wanted to look up something,” he said. 

Sylvia got up. “I have a little Bible here,” she said. 
Mr. Comet took the book from her hand and opened it. 

“ La Sainte Bible” he read. “ Why, this is a French 
Bible !” 

“Yes, I use it sometimes to refresh my French in it,” 
she answered. 

Mr. Comet threw the book on the floor so violently 
that Mrs. Rachel started up, frightened, and Sylvia gazed 
at him in amazement. 

“ And this is the only copy of the Bible in our house ?’ 
he asked, savagely. “ The book of all books does not 
exist here in a decent and legible shape ! May God — ” 

“But. husband,” interrupted Rachel, to stop the curse 
that was coming, “ are you entirely beside yourself ? As 
long as I know you, you have never asked for the book. 
Not a single time.” 


182 


A PERILOUS LOVE. 


“ So much the worse !” he cried. “ It is a scandal and 
a sin that I have not done so. Is this a Christian house ? 
But it is your fault, you spectre of my life.” 

He went out, slamming the door, and his steps gradu- 
ally passed away. “ What does he mean by spectre ?” 
asked Mrs. Rachel. “ What is a spectre ? Sylvia, am I a 
spectre ?” 

Sylvia shrugged her shoulders. 

“ I have always told you, mother, that you do not know 
how to take papa.” 

Rachel burst into tears. She had never in her life felt 
so unhappy. “Oh,” she sobbed, “when I think that I 
have been keeping your father’s house now for thirty 
years, that I have saved him ever so many dollars, and 
have always been a faithful wife to him — then surely it 
is hard to be called a spectre. And only yesterday he 
was so kind !” 

Mrs. Rachel had a tender heart and no longer felt the 
desire to fight as in former years. Her health was bad ; 
she was falling off, and had frequent violent headaches, 
and her complexion looked bluish and yellow at the 
same time. 

Sylvia, however, was almost as much struck by her 
father’s strange conduct. For years no such scene had 
taken place in the house. Her father, if at all at home 
and thinking of domestic affairs, had at best an ironical 
smile for them, and then left the ladies without saying 
another word. 

Mr. Comet was in the meantime sitting once more in 
his Bureau, and had utterly forgotten wife and child. 
He fell again into the same melancholy brooding that 
seemed to-day to have irrepressible charms for him. 
“ Shall I go back to her?” he asked himself again and 
again. “ And will she receive you ? She is so cunning 
— a very serpent in cunning ! If she sees that I cannot 


A LONGING SOUL. 


183 


do without her, I am lost. She is possessed by Satan. 
She will read me at a glance, like an open book. And 
she will tell me what I hardly dare confess myself ! She 
is too shrewd ! How often did she know what I was 
thinking of, as if she could read my thoughts through 
my brow as clearly as if they were written there in flam- 
ing letters ! Yes, if I go back to her I am lost.* She 
sees instantly that I cannot live without her, and if she 
sees it she will give me a ride worse than Mazeppa’s 
ride in the Polish steppes. She is not made of flesh and 
blood — she is a hellish compound of all the passions of 
man in a beautiful, seductive mask ! Oh that form ! 
those eyes ! those lips ! that hair !” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A LONGING SOUL. 

Ephraim was happier in Heidelberg than he had been 
for many years. He grew stout, and his complexion 
was healthy and ruddy. News from home no longer 
interested him — even the possible inheritance, after the 
death of his cousin Amadeus, occupied his thoughts but 
little. He had for some time intended to go to fair 
Flora’s father and to ask him for her hand, for he under- 
stood this much at least that it was customary and 
proper to marry a girl whom he had kissed and loved 
so long. He was only kept from doing it by some scru- 
ples he had whether the marriage ceremony of present 
churches fulfilled the intentions of the founder ? There 
are so many objections to marriage, he said, that it is 


184 


A LONGING SOUL. 


all-important to consult the best authorities on the sub- 
ject before venturing upon married life. 

At the same time it so happened that he had made the 
acquaintance of a young lady who lived in the same 
house in a room opposite to his, and who had, perhaps 
not quite unintentionally, such observations on marriage 
as confirmed him in his purpose, first to study the sub- 
ject very thoroughly. This young lady was an actress, 
and somewhat older than Ephraim, but she looked up to 
him as to her father or elder brother, as’ one would con- 
clude, at least, from the simple, honest manner of her 
daily visits to his rooms. The acquaintance had begun 
by means of a white powder, which good Ephraim had 
several times found on books left over night on the win- 
dow-sill, and which had evidently blown in through the 
open window. He consulted on this subject the girl 
who attended to his room. One morning his inquiries 
procured him a visit from the actress. She told him that 
she played certain parts which required powder, and as 
she did not own a white wig, she had been in the habit 
of powdering her own hair. Then, at night, after the 
play was over, she would hold her head outside the open 
window and shake the powder out of her hair again. 
Some must have flown into Ephraim’s open window. 

The actress had such perfectly natural and unreserved 
ways that Ephraim was delighted, and when he noticed 
how amazingly ignorant she was on the subject of dra- 
matic art, and how admirably she played notwithstand- 
ing, and how bright she was by nature, he was all the 
better pleased with her, and consulted her on matters 
grave and matters small. If he had followed her advice 
he would have given up all idea of ever getting married, 
but Ephraim was very much in earnest. He searched the 
Old and the New Testament, and read all he could find 
as to the relations between Man and Wife. Perusing 


A LONGING SOUL. 


185 


for that purpose the very important first chapter of the 
Epistle to the Corinthians, he happened to read, “ What- 
soever is sold in the shambles, that eat, asking no ques- 
tion for conscience sake.” “ Strange!” he said to him- 
self, “strange, that a holy man should make such a de- 
mand ! Generally, congregations are bold enough in 
eating, and do not require being encouraged.” 

Ephraim meditated, and came to the conclusion that he 
ought to compare the original, the Greek text. He was 
as thorough as a professor of history. 

“Si.:ce you wish to compare different versions,” said 
the obliging librarian, “I recommend to you this small 
work by a practising physician, which has created a great 
sensation.” Ephraim took the little book and found that 
the author believed Jesus had been a member of the sect 
of the Essenes, who ate no meat, swore no oaths, rejected 
therefore, matrimony, and made it their vocation in life 
to heal the sick in Judea, the Pharisees and Sadducees. 

“That is nothing new !” said Ephraim, when he had 
devoured the work in one short evening. “ Frederick 
the Great entertained the same view, although he was no 
theologian. The celibacy of the Catholic Church is, after 
all, a thoroughly Christian and sacred institution.” 

But he read again, and he now noticed, what had escaped 
him before, how the author in the end declared that after 
all the matter was purposely left undecided by the 
Apostle, who did not wish to coerce the free will of man 
in the least, but especially not in the question of matri- 
mony. He opened the window, and heard from the house 
opposite, where also the windows were left open, Weber’s 
“ Invitation to the waltz,” which his friend was playing. 
Ephraim listened a moment and then laughed heartily. 


186 


THE MAID OF CORINTH. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE MAID OF CORINTH. 

Flora and her family did all they could to make life 
easy for Ephraim ; they were perfectly at home with him 
and in him. They practised the maxim of English 
hosts, to leave their guests perfectly free to do and not 
to do what they choose, although they had never been 
in England. They lived as they had always lived, they 
ate what they had eaten before, and drank the same beer, 
the same wine, and never minded in the least whether 
Ephraim was present or not, 

He was very often present. From the hour of noon 
he was ever welcome. In the morning he worked, and 
then Flora also was busily engaged and did not like- to 
be interrupted. She kept house and provided dinner. 
After that she dressed and was very pretty to look at. 
At times Ephraim went across to dinner. It consisted of 
very simple dishes, pancakes and potatoes being promi- 
nent, but on Sundays always a dish of roast meat and a 
bottle of wine. The cousins sent fresh fruit from their 
garden every day. Ephraim enjoyed these primitive 
dishes, prepared by Flora’s skilful hand. After dinner 
they had coffee. Never in his life had Ephraim drunk 
such innocent coffee ; he was quite sure that it would 
never keep him awake if he were to drink gallons. The 
supper was a reduced copy of dinner. If Torquato Tasso 
had boarded at this house, instead of the court of the 
Dukes of Ferrara, Ephraim assured himself he would cer- 
tainly never have suffered . from surfeit, nor would An- 
tonia have been allowed to tell him that spices, sweet 
things, and strong beverages, hastily swallowed, had 


THE MAID OF COKINTH. 


187 


spoilt his blood by heating and troubled his mind’s clear 
vision. 

The father, as well as Adolf, disappeared soon after 
supper and went to their restaurant, where they spent 
every evening of the year. Then began sweet hours for 
Flora and Ephraim. Often they sat in the gloaming at 
the window behind the fragrant wall flowers ; often also, 
escorted by mamma or the young cousins, they strolled 
along the banks of the Neckar, if they did not extend 
their walk up to the old romantic castle. Ephraim’s 
greatest enjoyment, however, was to listen to Flora’s 
songs, accompanied by her brother on the piano. He 
had discovered that his love had a really fine voice and 
his delight knew no end. 

“ Certainly,” he said to her once in his admiration, “ if 
the gods wish to bestow their last and greatest favor 
upon a human being whom they love, they give him a 
fine voice, for Music is beyond doubt the language of all 
heavenly beings, and by it man raises himself on light 
wings to their throne on high !” 

The thought that such intimacy between these two 
young people might end disastrously, seemed never to 
have occurred to either of the two families. No member 
ever noticed or made any remark on this so-called 
friendship between Ephraim and Flora. Such freedom 
from care and anxiety, such perfect peace and repose, - 
such absolute trust and confidence in the two young 
people, struck Ephraim very forcibly, and corrected many 
views of life which he had formerly entertained. He 
could not conceal it from his own eyes that these simple, 
kind-hearted and contented people displayed almost per- 
petual cheerfulness, and that they almost unconsciously 
enjoyed in their own, simple ways, those greatest gifts 
that fall to the lot of man, and after which so many men 
aspire with almost desperate efforts. At times he had 


188 


THE MAID OF CORINTH. 


tried to converse with them on such subjects as inter- 
ested him most deeply. They listened politely to his 
ideas of the aim of creation, or the contrast between 
idealism and materialism, but they did not continue the 
discussion. Their idea was that a man must learn some- 
thing that will provide his daily bread, but to go beyond 
that was to them the beginning ot vagary. 

Ephraim spoke occasionally of such things as form, 
for the majority of men. the end and aim of all their 
efforts, of colossal wealth, of literary fame, of political 
eminence, of life at the Imperial Court. They listened 
again politely, but he saw that he made no impression. 
They read no newspapers, save a little, local sheet with 
all the births, marriages and deaths ; they did not even 
dream of eminence in Arts or Sciences, and the Court of 
the Emperor was no nearer to them than Sirius or 
Jupiter. They liked a cosy little chat about things of 
which they could judge, say of Aunt Ellen’s new bonnet, 
or the wine they had laid in for the coming winter, or 
the last engagement that had been such a surprise ! 

Ephraim came to the^nviction that in Berlin — and 
perhaps in some other great cities on earth — many things 
were held to be necessary, which, after all, were not 
indispensable for happiness ; and when he heard that 
aside from a cold, which papa had caught twelve years 
ago, after trying the new wine and spending the night 
absorbed in deep thought, in the open air, no one could 
remember a case of sickness in the family, he began here 
also to modify his views. 

Such discoveries gave Ephraim great pleasure ; he felt, 
in the bosom of this happy family, as if he were at a san- 
itarium, at a climatic “ Kurort,” but he also knew that 
his circumstances would not allow him to remain here 
forever. 

Thus the European nabob enjoys it hugely to breathe 


THE MAID OF CORINTH. 


189 


really pure air in Egypt, to bask in a light which beauti- 
fies even huts of baked clay, and to ride across the 
desert in company with black goblins, but he knows he 
will not forever remain in this new world, and will have 
to return to laced women, soot-blackened buildings and 
the friction of rail and paving-stone. Only in moments 
of utter forgetfulness can he feel perfectly happy be- 
tween the pyramids and the Nile. 

Thus Ephraim also could forget, only in hours when 
he went as it were entirely out of himself, that there 
are occupations which men honor with the name of 
Sciences, that he himself had been destined to plough, 
not Mother Earth, but the fruitful fields of Science, and 
that his whole youth had been too thoroughly imbued 
with notions of fame and honor to rest forever with this 
happy family. 

What would his Mother Clara have said to a daughter- 
in-law whose hair was so golden, whose bosom so round, 
whose foot so nimble, and whose culture was so imper- 
fect? To a daughter who could handle the broom and 
govern the pot, but who knew nothing of Egyptian 
king’s daughters, who had not read the Song of Roland, 
and who could not solve the enigmas in Spielhagen’s 
“ Problematic Characters ?” 

Although he respected Mothej* Clara’s opinions, and in 
truth and reality was Mother Clara’s son, he was not 
utterly dismayed by these thoughts. He had, at school, 
already shown himself to be an exceptional pupil, in as 
much as in studying the classic authors he had not been 
content with the grammar rules, but had asserted that 
there was actually some sense also in these writings. At 
a later period he carried his eccentricity so far that he 
actually thought, in determining his way in life, more 
of what an Aristotle, a Locke or .a Kant held, than what 
the good neighbors and kind gossips had to say. Thus 


190 


THE MAID OF CORINTH. 


it came about that when he had to face the question of 
betrothal and marriage, the most important crisis in his 
life, he actually sought help and counsel, not with men, 
but with Holy Writ. 

Here he was confronted on one side by the Greek text 
of the New Testament, while on the other side his close 
observation of Flora and her family led him to the con- 
viction that it was certainly better, without a wife to 
belong to the living, than with a wife to the dead, as the 
Essenes maintained when they taught their doctrine of 
Celibacy. 

Flora, moreover, seemed to meet him with the same 
view. At least he never discovered in her the slightest 
trace of a wish to be betrothed — the thought of marrying 
apparently had never yet occurred to her. She was pro- 
bably too sound, too hearty and simple, to think that 
love ought to be accorded only when the purchase 
money was lying on the table. She had certainly never 
looked upon kisses as bait to catch a provision for life. 
Her only idea of love and of kisses was evidently that they 
were charming, that there was in fact nothing sweeter 
and dearer in life than to love and to kiss. She had evi- 
dently been so badly brought up that she openly revealed 
the impulses of her heart, instead of secretly weaving 
them into a net in whitfi to catch a lover — at least so 
thought Ephraim. 

The parents and relatives also apparently did not care 
what was going on. They lived in harmless security, and 
thought, perhaps, in their touching modesty, that lovers 
must themselves know best what was good for them, and 
ought not, without urgent necessity, to be suddenly 
arrested and chained to each other with manacles — so 
thought Ephraim. Never had a sky so blue and clear 
of clouds beamed down upon the happy man. He hung 
on the words of the wise men of antiquity, and on Flora’s 


THE MAID OF CORINTH. 


191 


lips — the wisdom of India raised his head to heaven, soft 
arms held him back on earth. 

It was so pleasant in the morning in this sunny, cheery 
room, that looked out upon the old, rickety, carved bow- 
window opposite, to read in old books, and to think all 
the time how the evening would bring what all their 
wisdom could not procure. It was so pleasant to hear 
the dainty step of the actress approach, who came with 
her bright, eager eyes to try and catch a little speech on 
Moliere or Shakespeare, or to arrange an outing for the 
evening if she did not play that night. It was so pleas- 
ant to hear the sound of Adolfs piano that summoned 
him to come across and to spend the evening in sweet 
converse with his beloved ! 

Flora was born for love, and as the fish splashes and 
swims merrily and pleasantly in his element, she also 
swam, as it were happily, in the element of the Cyprian 
Goddess. She was every day new and fresh ; only in her 
affectionate tenderness she was ever the old one. She 
knew how to give a new and attractive turn to every 
meeting, to every agreement for another meeting. With 
the actress also she had readily made friends, and again 
and again the merry company would walk out to the old 
castle, drink and chat and sing under the tall old trees, 
till the stars above in the darjc blue sky would shine 
brightly, and the little lights below in the valley go out 
one by one. 

Thus one day passed after another, one month fol- 
lowed another, and summer was verging into Autumn. 
Then Ephraim began to feel that earth-born happiness 
is after all but ephemeral. 

He had one morning, with his almost over-refined per- 
ception, .noticed a trifle, a mere trifle, which still rankled 
in his mind. Flora had, while he kissed her, fastened a 


192 


THE MAID OF CORINTH. 


bow to her throat. They had been standing in the bow- 
window, behind the flowers ; he held her embraced, her 
golden hair touched his cheek, his heart was drunk with 
bliss — when she took a piece of blue ribbon from the 
table and calmly fastened it carefully during the kiss. 

He was not quite so merry, quite so cheerful that even- 
ing — and yet he could not say why. 

Next morning a little incident happened with the step- 
daughter of his landlord. This man, a respectable and 
universally esteemed citizen, and an excellent singer in 
church, though a little given to drinking, was her guard- 
ian, and in that capacity drew an income of fifty dollars. 
He and his wife saw that they would lose this money if 
the girl ever married, and had therefore opposed her 
betrothal to a young merchant. This had led to the sad 
result that the man had seduced the girl and fled to 
America. 

With hot tears the poor child confessed her sin to 
Ephraim when he asked her why she had been weeping 
so grievously, as her face showed ? Ephraim was deeply 
interested in the girl, and resolved to intercede in her 
behalf with the old people. But what struck him forci- 
bly was this, that the girl did not blame her faithless, 
cowardly lover -at all, but that her love seemed only to 
be the stronger for his wickedness. 

He discussed the case with his friend the actress, but 
she made such a face, and her eyes sparkled with such 
cunning humor, that Ephraim understood her meaning 
and was silent. 

He drew, however, a lesson from the incident. He told 
himself, for the first, time clearly, that Flora’s love might 
very well slip away from him one of these days, and he 
would not be able to keep it from disappearing. It was 
not given to him to keep Flora’s affection in such con- 


INTO THE ABYSS. 


193 


stant excitement as a girl of her nature required, as it 
would have been necessary to be quite sure of a Maid of 
Corinth — as he called Flora in his heart. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

INTO THE ABYSS. 

The summer that brought Ephraim in Heidelburg noth- 
ing but love and philosophy, brought to Alfonse in Ber- 
lin dark thoughts and sombre reflections. He could not 
get over the loss of the singer, and hated the prince with 
burning rage, constantly brooding over the secret which, 
he thought, could alone explain the strange union 
between these two beings that were so unlike to each 
other. He gradually convinced himself that there must 
be a secret bond which united the Liondell family and 
the Spanish woman, and that this alone could have 
induced the prince to overcome all the prejudices of his 
caste. Surely, under no other circumstances, could the 
prince have decided to marry the stage-princess, whom, 
before, he had never treated otherwise than with ironical 
courtesy and a kind of mocking respect, and whom he had 
apparently noticed only because she was the fashion and 
he wanted amusement. He was convinced that some- 
thing very strange must have occurred to explain so 
remarkable a change. 

And again and again his mind reverted to that remark- 
able scene at the Alliance Club, when the Arab charged 
her publicly with robbery, when his cousin Amadeus had 
shown such a strange interest in the judicial inquiry, and 


194 : 


INTO THE ABYSS. 


the reticence of the Spanish woman as to her family and 
her childhood. He now remembered having heard that 
one of the old baron’s brothers had been murdered on 
the island of Cuba with his whole family, a fact which 
his mother averred to have known for years, and lastly, 
he recalled the striking likeness which the artist bore to 
his unfortunate cousin. 

All these circumstances put together enabled him 
pretty nearly to guess the actual truth ; he thereupon 
called on the lawyer who had defended the artist, and 
from him obtained the certainty that she was a Liondell. 
The lawyer, however, repeated that the lady herself 
emphatically denied to be in any manner related to that 
family. This was enough for him, and he now set to 
work with the aid of his mother to ascertain how far 
this might affect their prospects when the old baron 
should depart this life. 

Mrs. Clara was terribly excited when he explained 
the matter to her ; she and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Rachel, 
had overwhelmed poor Uncle Liondell with expressions 
of their profound sympathy, hoping thus to strengthen 
the bonds of kinship for future emergencies. The old 
baron, however, had received their condolence very coolly ; 
he seemed actually to dislike being reminded of his 
affliction, — he did not hesitate to let them see this. “You 
can go away now, Sister Rachel, and you can go, too, 
Clara,” he once said, when the two affectionate creatures 
assured him that they would never, never leave him alone 
in his great sorrow. He treated his relatives with a kind 
of gentle brutality, which did not allow them the slightest 
hope of benefiting by his death. This had naturally also 
prevented Mrs. Clara from asking for the two thousand 
dollars with which to pay Alfonse’s debts. When she now 
'heard that the famous singer had met the old gentle- 
man once or twice, she was furious, and only calmed 


INTO THE ABYSS. 


195 


down when she was told that the artist had left for 
Paris. 

But this consolation also was only momentary, for soon 
it became known that Prince Lignac had followed her, 
and next the newspapers teemed with notices of the 
brilliant wedding that had taken place at the Madeline, 
uniting Prince Lignac and the far-famed artist Chessa de 
Molini. Among the by-standers a number of princes 
and dukes, of counts and barons, were mentioned, but 
also names like Rothschild, Seligman, Landauer, etc., who 
warranted the prince’s connection with the leading finan- 
cial houses of Europe. The bride had worn white silk, 
suffused with a faint, rosy sheen, imitating the delicate 
pinkish petals of unfolding rosebuds ; laces of great age 
and fabulous value had adorned her costume, which was 
completed by a dainty wreath of orange blossoms and 
diamonds, from which a most exquisite, perfectly trans- 
parent veil hung down to the ground. This article, not 
pleasant to read for Alfonse, was promptly followed by 
one still less pleasant. It stated that the prince was 
negotiating with the Imperial Government for the privi- 
lege of making his German estates a strictly entailed 
property, for which purpose twenty-five millions had been 
invested in land, so as to erect the new principality of 
Lissa on a truly imposing scale. This estate, to be 
known as the Lissa Estate, was hereafter to devolve 
always upon the second son of the head of the house, 
who remained himself as Prince Lignac, in possession of 
all the territory now owned by that family in Normandy 
and Little Brittany. The present prince would, more- 
over, endow and assume a third title of his house, a 
Barony Liondell, bearing this name in agreement with 
the head of the famous banking-house of that name, who 
endowed it now with a sum to be specified at his 
demise. 


196 


INTO THE ABYSS. 


Alfonse read these lines with rage in his heart ; his 
mother and Mrs. Comet broke out in furious denuncia- 
tions of the wicked old man, amid torrents of tears, and 
curses loud and fierce. They saw clearly that the two 
families of Comet and Steelyard were to be disinherited 
for the benefit of this vagabond niece. 

“ He has lost his senses !” cried Mrs. Clara. “ To give 
everything to the man who was the cause of his son’s 
death ! Who knows but it was all a conspiracy, and the 
prince only made him buy that beast in order to get him 
out of the way ? And the old fool does not see that ! 
And he forgets his legitimate heirs, his own kinsmen, 
who helped him when he was starving, and thus laid the 
foundation to his present enormous wealth ! But — God 
will punish him ! I am sure !” 

“ Is that really so?” asked Alfonse, for the hundredth 
time, looking dark and dismal. 

“ I will die if it is not so!” cried his mother. “Si- 
mon’s father was a poor Jew, who went about in the vil- 
lages, a stick in his hand and a bag on his shoulders, 
peddling. Simon himself commenced with ten dollars 
fifty-four years ago, and had to fail three times before 
he could establish a bank of his own.” 

Mrs. Rachel confirmed the statement. She was prob- 
ably most severely hurt by the discovery, for she had 
most confidently built upon the hope of an inheritance. 
Alfonse soon received another blow. He was notified 
that after the lapse of the regular term, he would be 
ordered back to his regiment in a remote province. 

Three days he spent in brooding over this new calamity, 
and then he sent in his resignation, and told his father 
that he was ready to go to London. His mother was 
terribly distressed, and at least prevailed upon him not 
to leave Berlin for awhile. He had formed a plan of 
his own. 


INTO THE ABYSS. 


197 


He spent much of his time at the banker’s villa, trying 
to amuse him by light, entertaining talk, such as he 
possessed in a high degree. The old gentleman had 
always rather had a liking for the clever, handsome kins- 
man, and had frequently shown him some preference, 
although Amadeus had prevented a closer intercourse. 
Now he took some interest in Alfonse’s plans, was 
pleased with his intention to become a business man, and 
promised him letters for London. Prince Lignac and 
Chessa were purposely never mentioned by Alfonse. 

One evening in September Alfonse packed a small 
valise with the most necessary things, sent it, unknown to 
his parents, to the Western Railway station, put his revol- 
ver into his breast-pocket, and drove out to the villa. 
He expected to find the old banker, as usual, in the little 
Bureau which he had caused to be fitted up for himself in 
the second story, and where he felt more comfortable than 
ni the gorgeously-adorned room down-stairs. 

The servants, who knew him, showed him up at once, 
and he entered the room, where he found the old man 
sitting at his writing-table and looking at him surprised 
at a visit at so late an hour. 

Alfonse hesitated a moment at the door ; his heart was 
beating so violently he could hardly breathe. His eyes 
were swimming ; he saw nothing distinctly, not even the 
old man who had ever been so kind to him, and whom he 
now meant. He begged to be excused for coming at this 
unsuitable hour, and then sat down close before the 
banker, thus barring any escape for the latter. 

“ I came so late,” he said, speaking with a thick, trem- 
bling voice, “ because I wanted to find you alone, for I 
have a very serious matter to discuss.” 

The tone of his voice was strangely hoarse, and his eyes 
shone with an uncanny fire, so that the old baron began 
to feel very uncomfortable, and looked hard at the young 


198 


INTO THE ABYSS. 


man. He pushed back his chair, trying instinctively to 
get free, but Alfonse firmly seized his hand and requested 
him to sit still and listen to him. 

The banker obeyed, for a sudden, great fear fell upon 
him. His imagination ran riot among a number of ter- 
rible scenes in which rich men had been surprised in some 
such way as this, and exposed to terrible danger. He saw 
that Alfonse was not himself, but seemed to be under the 
control of some foreign influence, which had seized him 
and now drove him on to some desperate measure. 

“ What do you want ?” he asked, trying to appear calm, 
although he was conscious that the blood receded from 
his cheeks and that his knees were trembling. 

“All the papers bring the report,” began Alfonse, look- 
ing fixedly at the banker, and feeling that the first step 
being taken, he had no choice now but must go on, “ that 
Prince Lignac has married the public singer, Chessa de 
Molini, and that he has, w T ith your consent and your 
assistance, established an immense entailed estate. Am 
I right in supposing that this public singer is your neice, 
Benjamin’s daughter ? And that you are goingto make, 
or have already made her, the only heir to your entire 
fortune ?” 

“What is that to you? How dare you hold me to 
account ?” the banker boldly exclaimed, anger and fear 
competing in him for the supremacy. He was in a state 
of great excitement, his lips trembling, and his hands 
seeking now here, now there, to grasp a knife — or what 
not. 

“ That is very much to me !” was Alfonse’s calm answer, 
“ and I think I have the right to hold you to account for it. 
And if I should not have the right, I would dare take it. 
My family has the first claim upon you, and of my family 
myself. I am excessively sorry to have to say so, but I 
am in a desperate condition ; I cannot help myself in any 


INTO THE ABYS8. 


199 


other way. I ask in all humility and modesty. There is 
a knife at my throat ! You are my last sheet-anchor !” 

The banker rose and stretched out his hand for the 
bell, but Alfonse seized him and pressed him back again 
into his chair. Then he continued : 

“ Let us discuss this quietly ! No one will interrupt 
us here and now ! You see, honored uncle and baron, 
you are a millionaire many times over — I am a poor devil, 
and worse than poor, since I am terribly in debt. It is 
very unpleasant to me to know that all this pretty money 
is to go to a strange prince, especially when I remember 
'that it was my family who gave you, first of all, means to 
start in life, and that you have never returned the money 
which you thus borrowed.” 

“ That is a lie !” cried the man. “ I have let you have 
ten- times as much as old Ephraim ever advanced me.” 

He gathered some courage when he heard the young 
man talk reasonably, and he no longer-feared that he was 
drunk or insane, as he had fancied for a moment. 

“ Even if that were so,” continued the young man, “'it 
would be utterly out of proportion to the millions which 
you now possess, and which you would not possess if 
my grandfather had not helped you.” 

“ Who says so ? who can know that ?” cried the baron. 
“ Industrious hands and able thoughts always make 
money.” 

“ Never mind that now ! The question is simply this : 
Have you really transferred your whole fortune to this 
woman ?” 

“That is nobody’s business !” replied the banker. 

“ Very well, then — I thought so,” said Alfonse, calmly 
drawing his revolver from his pocket. He then laid it 
on his knee, drawing the cock to its first rest. 

A terrible fright befell the poor old man at the click of 
the weapon. He turned deadly pale, his lips were blue, 


200 


INTO THE ABYSS. 


and his arms fell helpless down at his sides. He firmly 
believed that his last hour had come, and deep night fell 
upon his senses. 

The sight of this despair was so pitiful that Alfonse 
felt compassion, and almost inclined to ask the poor old 
man’s forgiveness, to pocket the revolver and to run 
away. But the idea of making himself ridiculous and of 
giving way at the very moment of success, soon got the 
better of his impulses — he clenched his teeth and said : 

“ You need-not be afraid — this weapon is not intended 
for you !” 

The old man turned his lack-lustre eyes upon him, and 
began to breathe once more. 

“This six-barreled revolver,” said the young man, rais- 
ing the weapon and turning the barrels, “ is my last re- 
source if you forsake me. I want money, and I beg you 
will pay it to me as part of my future inheritance. If 
you refuse, I shall kill myself here, before your eyes, and 
then you will be sorry to have been so hard-hearted !” 

In the flood of thoughts which filled the old man’s 
brains at this moment, one was supreme : What could 
he do to make Alfonse choose another place where he 
might kill himself ? All kinds of possible and impossible 
stories of pistols going off at the right moment or at the 
wrong — which was it ? — chased each other, and the mere 
thought that such a murderous weapon might be dis- 
charged here in his presence, was unspeakable horror to 
his feeble mind. He fancied he felt some little cold 
thing boring its way into his head or into his chest — per- 
haps right into his heart — who could tell ? and now, did 
he not see that fearful weapon there right before him? 
Suppose it were to go off now ? Where would the ball 
lodge ? 

“How much money do you want?” he at last found 
breath to ask. 


INTO THE ABYSS. 


201 


“ Enough to secure me a pleasant, easy life. The 
amount I leave to your generosity, but I shall want at 
the very least fifty thousand dollars.” 

The banker looked at him dumbfounded. “The man 
must be insane, after all !” he thought. “ He cannot be 
in earnest — he only wants to frighten me !” 

“ Alfonse !” he exclaimed, indignantly, and making a 
last effort, “ leave me ; shame upon your unworthy con- 
duct !” 

But the man only raised the revolver, and showed in 
his features such savage resolution, that the baron saw, 
beyond all doubt, he was in earnest. 

“Stop !” he cried. “You shall have the money.” 

He moved aside some papers, but his hands trembled 
so he could not find what he wanted. 

“ A vast sum !” he stammered. 

“Very small for a fortune of twenty millions, I 
should think,” replied Alfonse very quietly. 

The old man cast a look at Alfonse which remained 
forever engraven on his memory as a terrific image, 
so fearfully were wrath and terror mingled there. 

It was a terrible scene for Alfonse, as he sat there in 
silence and watched the old man, with his feeble sight, 
and weak, trembling hands, trying to endorse bills of 
exchange and to sign cheques. He saw himself triumph- 
ing over his adversaries, amply provided for all time to 
come, and no one the wiser for it, and victory in the near 
future — and yet he felt the most wretched man on earth. 
He tried to look at the old man’s face — he could not do 
it. There was a higher power over him that made him 
blush as he heard the pen scratch the stiff paper ; and 
when the old man, having replaced his cheque books, 
turned the key in the lock of the drawer, he actually 
started. 

He hastily grasped the precious, flimsy little papers, 


202 


INTO THE ABYSS. 


crushed them into his pocket-book, turned away from the 
pitiful sight of the poor old man, who had sunk down 
into a little heap in his large arm-chair, and fled as fast 
as he could. 

The old man, feeling rather than seeing that his tor- 
mentor had left him, stared with shy and timid looks 
around the room, seized his brow with his hand, breathed 
heavily, tried to call for assistance, tried to rise, and sank, 
groaning, slowly on the floor, remaining there prostrate 
and unable to move or to utter a sound. 

Thus his valet found him perhaps half an hour later. 
He at once summoned another servant, and the two carried 
their helpless master to his bed. A physician was fortu- 
nately always in the house, since the old gentleman had 
had his nervous attacks, and thanks to his judicious and 
prompt treatment, the old gentleman’s condition improved 
rapidly. The long-protracted lethargy, however, was now 
succeeded by fearful excitement ; his eyes rolled aimlessly 
all around, and unmeaning speeches followed each other 
in an unceasing flow, interrupted by painful fits of laugh- 
ter. No sleep came. 

On the following day also no improvement could be 
observed. He did not recognize the persons at his bed- 
side, and although memory seemed to revive, it was very 
uncertain, and he constantly mixed up events and cir- 
cumstances alike. Revolvers seemed to occupy his mind 
and to threaten him continually. He shook and started 
when any one drew near, and then again begged piteously 
not to be left alone and unprotected. Then he would 
ask for the reports from ’Change* walked up and down, 
and scolded physicians and servants because they would 
not let him drive into town. 

Day after day the ante-rooms were filled with crowds 
of visitors and inquirers, but the poor old man could not 
be allowed to see any one, and even the names of his vis- 


FATAL LOVE. 


203 


itors were not made known to him. Without rest in the 
day, without sleep at night, he wandered about in his 
golden apartments. 


CHAPTER XX. 

FATAL LOVE. 

Comet’s luck, since he had broken with Lily, was some- 
thing fabulous. All his financial ventures succeeded 
with astonishing regularity. A wild energy seemed to 
possess him, which made him withdraw from no enter- 
prise let it appear ever so venturesome, and yet when he 
had once entered into it, no man’s judgment surpassed 
that of the great financier. He seemed at the same time 
utterly to despise what men might do to thwart him in 
his speculations, and to calculate his chances with minute 
precaution. His ventures could have ruined him, but 
he never shrank from the boldest, and in an incredibly 
short time his own wealth and the assets of the Imperial 
Bank had doubled. All attacks were silenced. All Well- 
meaning papers, all conservative editors were on his side, 
and his adversaries were literally crushed under the 
weight of public opinion. 

Thus he was lying one morning on his mechanical 
rocking-chair, that yielded to his slightest impetus, in his 
Bureau in the Bank, meditating on his unbroken success- 
ful career — and yet he looked haggard. 

He could not forget Lily ! He had ^conquered all 
temptations, and had not gone to see her, telling himself 
that it was wiser so, and because he was afraid of her. 
He had abstained from seeing her* even after the papers 


204 


FATAL LOVE. 


had announced Prince Lignac’s departure, and later his 
marriage. He did not wish himself to put the dagger into 
his adversary’s hand, with which she might stab him. He 
had used all known means to forget her. He had first 
plunged into every kind of amusement that still had any 
charms for him. He went every night into company and 
drank champagne to excess. He had taken a new mis- 
tress, a fair, black-eyed ballet girl, admired by scores of 
young men, and yet faithful to him — but it was all in 
vain ! Company was wearisome — the wine was not dry 
enough, the black-eyed girl failed to amuse him ! 

He had thrown himself zealously into politics ; he 
obtained signal success in Parliament by his brilliant 
eloquence ; he played high on ’Change and he won. 

But it was all in vain ! His victories in Parliament 
only made him despise those who applauded him, and 
his winnings on ’Change made him tire of money. 

He had stopped one evening on his way home, and 
looking up at the golden stars in the dark blue sky, he 
had told himself that it was a misery to work so hard on 
earth when up there thousands of immeasurable unknown 
bodies proclaimed the infiniteness of the Universe. He 
thought the contemplation of the heavenly bodies might 
afford him distraction, and he had a small observatory 
erected on top of a tower that adorned his town-house. 
This he furnished with a telescope, and astronomical 
instruments and works. Then he engaged one of the 
men of the National Observatory to give him lessons and 
to help him in observing the constellations. 

But it was all in vain ! The stars did not draw him 
upward, but he drew them downward ; the calculations 
and the watchipg became soon tiresome. 

This morning he was thinking this over in silent, hope- 
less despair, when one of his servants came in hurriedly 
and in a state of great excitement, to tell him that his 


FATAL LOVE. 


205 


wife had just fallen down fainting, and had died 
immediately afterwards. 

Doctor Comet started up as if struck by an electric 
shock. “My wife is dead ?” he asked. 

“Yes !” said the servant. 

“ Is it certain ?” 

“We went for the doctor, and he said nothing could be 
done.” 

“Very well!” said Comet, “ tell my daughter I’ll be 
there in a moment.” 

“ Rachel dead !” he said when the servant had left. “ I 
never thought she could die !” 

Mechanically he locked up all his papers, and then 
went and stood at the window. “ I might buy her of her 
husband and marry her,” he said. “ That is one way. 
Blank will be content to get enough to live comfortably 
in Paris. She loves me, I know ; if I had not known it, I 
should have hanged myself long ago ! Yes, she loves me ! 
The more I reflect upon her behavior, the more I read 
her letters, which she wrote me years ago — the more I 
feel certain that she loves me. There is an affinity be- 
tween us that binds us, the one to the other, and that 
will kill us if we remain separated. That must be so 
or I could not be so very unhappy. And yet this pas- 
sion — what has it ever done for me ? My heart used to 
be pure — all my aspirations noble and lofty ! And now 
I feel as if there were no crime I could not commit — if 
she demanded it. Yes, I could murder even her, if she 
did not hear me. How I should like to turn the pointed 
steel in her heart around and around !” 

He ordered his horses and drove home to give the nec- 
essary orders for the funeral. Sylvia met him in tears ; 
the other children also came and wept bitterly at this 
sudden parting. Comet himself could not check his 
tears when he saw the lifeless form of his wife before 


206 


FATAL LOVE. 


him, and thought of the many, many years during which 
he had seen her every day. 

He ordered a magnificient funeral and a monument of 
white marble six yards high, and costing several thou- 
sand dollars. The interment was witnessed by almost 
everybody in town who belonged to the upper classes of 
society ; the grave was completely concealed under a 
small mountain of flowers, and the next day the incon- 
solable widower went on his way to Baron Blank’s 
house. 

Lily was alone, but her reception was not such as to 
infuse hope into Comet’s bosom. Half sitting, half re- 
clining on her couch, she kept perfectly cool, and pre- 
tended not to notice her visitor’s evident excitement. On 
her lap, she had as of old, her black Angora cat with the 
long, silky hair, in which the long white fingers seemed 
to wander with evident delight. The creature, with its 
phosphorescent, half-veiled eyes, in its cunning cruelty 
seemed to be the very image of its mistress. 

“I have been absent a long time, Lily,” he said, trying 
to speak with composure. 

“Almost six weeks !” was the reply. 

Her eyes remained sleepily fixed upon the animal, 
while a gesture of the hand invited him to a seat. 

“ My wife is dead !” he said. 

She barely touched him with a flash of fire leaping 
from under the half-raised lids of her deep eyes, and then 
she said : 

“ I see you are in mourning.” 

“Let us not be hypocrites,” he continued, with an 
effort. “You know how I stood with poor Rachel.” 

She uttered a short, sharp laugh. 

“I am pleased to be taught by you how to mourn. 
The depth of your feelings is distinctly visible. Now I 
understand your conduct towards me. The grief you 


FATAL LOVE. 


207 


feel for Rachel — was that the name ? — enables me to see 
how much you must have suffered when you lost me.” 

“Don’t say that, Lily !” he replied. “Those. words do 
not come from your heart. You know what I feel for 
you, and you see that I do not grieve as you pretend to 
imagine.” 

The eloquent parliamentarian had, in her presence, lost 
all power over words, and his talents seemed to be 
smothered under the violence of his passion. 

“You know,” he continued, after a pause of helpless 
embarrassment, “ you know that I am your slave, that I 
cannot live without you, that I love you beyond all 
bounds.” 

She laughed again. “Very well done! Well said! 
Now, please, go on ! Slander the departed Rachel a lit- 
tle — tell me that she was the only hindrance to our 
union — that she is out of the way now, and that ” 

“ Oh, I swear to you,” he cried, “by all that is sacred, 
I swear by my honor, by my love ” 

“ Excellent,” she said, with her strident laugh, “ an 
admirable lover ! I suppose I am just sweet sixteen ! I 
have just come from boarding-school !” 

“Are you going to make me mad ?” he hissed. 

“Ah, Baldwin, there were times when you did that 
much better ! I am not surprised that you are not in 
training. It is after all true, — art can never be a substi- 
tute for youth. We ought to be too sensible to rehearse 
such scenes, for we are both of considerable age. Go, 
make money, more money ; increase your political great- 
ness, and leave me my cat ! Thus we can both lead a 
quiet, pleasurable life till the end comes.” 

He sank back in his chair and stared at nothing. 

Then he began in a quiet, subdued tone : 

“ You do not believe me. Put me to the test! Ask 
what you want ! Anything !” 


208 


FATAL LOVE. 


She raised herself up and said, quickly : 

“ Give me the address.” 

He looked deeply pained at these words. “ That is 
the one thing,” he said, timidly, “ I cannot do; at least 
not at present.” 

She threw herself back and laughed. 

“For Heaven’s sake,” he said, “ do not misunderstand 
me. I have been signally unfortunate. The girl has, of 
her own will, left the place where she was, and I myself 
do not know at this hour where she is. But you may 
rest assured that I shall spare no trouble to find her. I 
am on her track already. Believe me !” 

“ Do not excite yourself, Baldwin ! You talk quite 
creditably — almost as well as a police-report.” 

He saw clearly that she mistrusted him ; he felt as if 
his tongue were paralyzed. He knew he was at once 
guilty and innocent ; — the former because he had so long 
purposely concealed the child’s home, the latter because 
he told the truth in saying that he did not know where 
she now was. His suspicions had been excited by an 
appeal in the newspapers, which he attributed to Lily ; 
he had ordered the daughter to be carried to a distant 
town, — his agents had mismanaged the matter, and she 
had escaped, as we have seen. 

“We will look for her together,” he said at last. 
“Only believe me. I have a great project. I have risen 
high in life. I have achieved much — I lay it all at 
your feet ! I do not wish you to believe — you shall see. 
I can make Blank a rich man, and there will be left 
more than enough to fulfil all our wishes. I shall never 
give you ground for complaint ; my whole life shall be 
devoted to your well-being, if you will only decide to be 
mine, and to join me in noble, legal wedlock !” 

He looked at her in fearful anguish. His whole being 



SHE RAISED HERSELF HP AND SAID QUICKLY I “ GIVE ME THE ADDRESS.” SCC Fage 208. 



210 


FATAL LOYE. 


was consumed in anxious expectation. She closed her 
eyes. “That is highly immoral 1” she said calmly. 

He uttered a sarcastic laugh. 

“And not only immoral but also unwise. You are 
your own worst enemy, Baldwin, and for the simple 
reason that you do not know yourself, I know you. You 
only value what you do not possess ; what you own you 
despise. If I should really abandon poor Blank and 
marry you, I should only make us both desperately 
unhappy. You would soon tire of me ; — were you not 
already tired of me when we were still in the heyday of 
passion, when your wife was still living, and this love 
had the irresistible charm of forbidden fruit for you ? 
Besides — you would fall out with all your legitimate chil- 
dren, with all your relatives and friends, who would all 
be unable to comprehend how so great a statesman, a 
sedate old man, could go so far astray ! No, Baldwin, 
you cannot live without courtiers and flatterers ! You 
think too much of the world and of the world’s opinion 
of you ! I advise you for your best, Baldwin. Forget 
me !” 

“One word,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “only one 
word ! and by that Mercy for which you hope in Heaven, 
tell me the truth ! Do you love me still ? Or do you 
love me no longer?” 

She rose to her full height and for a moment or two 
looked at him fixedly. “ No !” she said calmly, shaking 
her head. “ No ! I have loved you — but that is over. 
Even if I were to try it, I cannot do it !” 

His heart beat fiercely, his eyes filled with a bright, 
dazzling glimmer, there was a roaring in his ears as if 
the world were going to pieces, and yet he heard Lily’s 
voice high above it all, and it went like a sharp, double- 
edged sword through his heart. One moment he felt as 
if he would strangle her in his strong arms — the next 


FATAL LOVE. 


211 


moment he hissed: “Then be cursed!” and tottered 
out. 

As the door closed behind, she started up, flung the 
cat into a corner, and followed him with her eyes in wild 
triumph. Then, with brightly burning eyes, and her 
head carried on high, she walked with long, measured 
strides up and down in the room like a lioness in sight 
of her prey. 

“ I am an old man, and it is all over with me,” said 
Doctor Comet to himself, as he slowly descended the 
staircase. He went away with a broken heart, melan- 
choly, and with a wound that he felfcrto be deadly. Once 
more he looked at the well-known steps, the walls with 
their familiar faded frescoes, and the door where the 
angel stood with the flaming sword to keep him out of 
his paradise forever and forever now ! His defeat, his 
humiliation, he felt was final. From that sentence there 
was no appeal ! Not even if he should succeed in find- 
ing the child that had so mysteriously disappeared. No ! 
Not even then ! For he knew Lily had for once told the 
truth — she did not love him any more ! And he, he 
wanted to be loved, he had the burning, consuming 
desire for love — and here he had wrecked his ship ! This 
destroyed his hope and his courage at one fell blow, and 
he felt for the first time in his life that he was an old 
man, that the play was over, and that he must say fare- 
well to the world . 

It was nearly night ; a cold, dense mist, with a slight, 
scattering rain, veiled the electric lights even, and made 
the movements in the streets a shadowy world. As in a 
. dream the passers-by, the rattling carriages and the * 
cries of the street boys flitted past him. He did not 
know where he was nor wheie he was going. Life was 
henceforth a spectacle only for him, he an indifferent 


212 


FATAL LOVE. 


spectator ; the world had no interest for him any longer ; 
he belonged here already, to the majority. 

Thus he walked down the splendid avenue of Unter 
den Linden, passed through the magnificent propylaeum 
here repeated, out into the great park. A sharp wind 
arose, rustling in the sere and yellow leaves of the almost 
bare trees, knocking the branches against each other, and 
whistling through the twigs. Gradually the fine rain 
ceased, the fog sank down and fluttered away, the sky 
cleared up, and only isolated cloudlets were still drifting 
in and out among the sparkling stars. 

“ How I remember !” said the lonely wanderer to him- 
self. “ It was a night like this when I went home, drunk 
with delight, tottering in my ecstasy ! I had seen her 
the first time, sitting by her in a crowd, and the flash of 
her eyes, the sweet sound of her voice, and the play of 
her tiny hands, had made me forget the whole world 1 
I embraced the earth in my fervent love — I was swim- 
ming in an ocean of light, I could have kissed every tree 
in the park ! And now ! And now !” 

Thus he stood awhile, motionless. Then the frost 
chilled him. He started anew, he entered the city once 
more, and moved mechanically. A ray of moonlight fell 
upon something shining on high ; he recognized it ; it 
was his own little observatory, lighted up as usual. This 
aroused in him a desire to look at the stars, and perhaps, 
like Wallenstein, to read his fate there. He w*ent up and 
looked through the telescope. The sky was clear, no 
vapors born on earth ascended that high, and the heav- 
enly waves of light came flowing down in blazing, 
dazzing clearness upon the eye of the unhappy man, 
who demanded of the stars that relief which the earth 
denied him. 

But in vain ! His spirits did not rise ; his head sank 
down wearily. “What avails it that I know what an 


FATAL LOVE. 


213 


atom I am on this great globe we call the earth ? And 
what is the earth but an atom compared with the infin- 
ity of yonder spheres, among which a whole solar system 
appears but as a white spot ? This atom, this micro- 
scopic being, which is but a parasite on an infusorial little 
creature, grieves because it cannot live near another 
atom. A miserable, wretched creature I am ! Is it not 
a shame and a disgrace that I should grieve for a woman 
who herself is a disgrace to her sex ? If she were but 
beautiful or young, or brilliant in mind, or celebrated in 
the world, or of signally noble character and most lovable 
disposition ! But no — not a charm, not an attraction in 
mind, body or soul ! She is an over-ripe fruit, pale of 
face, false of heart and malicious ; she is despised by men, 
corrupted by the worst society, stained by all vices, a 
woman and yet no longer a woman ! And I — I am a 
father who has children, sons and daughters, of hoary 
head, rich, esteemed, of great influence in the affairs of the 
greatest empire on earth, a man who might enjoy all the 
world can offer ! And this inconceivable passion takes 
the cup from my lip.” 

He seized his head with both hands and groaned 
deeply. “ I am so weary, weary!” He repeated the terri- 
ble words again and again. After a long pause he broke 
out once more : “The Lethe of the Ancients is all that 
I can see on earth that is left me. Why not? Is there 
anything better that this world can offer me ? Eternal 
forgetfulness ! That suits me. As far as I can think 
back, I find no day that was half as sweet as a night of 
dreamless sleep, and if I go to meet eternal night with- 
out dreams, I shall only make an exchange, in which all 
the advantage is on my side — as has ever been the case 
in all that I have done during my life.” 

Doctor Comet opened a bottle of champagne which 


214 


FATAL LOVE. 


the servant placed there every evening, in case his mas- 
ter should need such refreshments, poured a powder 
into a goblet, and then filled it to the brim with the 
foaming wine. 

He drank it, then he laid down on his ottoman covered 
with the rarest of Persian rugs, and closed his eyes. 

Then he felt as if the poison began to have its effect 
and to confuse his senses ; the reality vanished ; it seemed 
to him — was it a vision, or did he really see the door 
open noiselessly and a womanly form glide in and draw 
near ? Was it really the well-known pale face with the 
deep, dark eyes, the one face he ever saw by day and by 
night, framed now in a black hood, and gazing at him ? 
He smiled in return to her inquiring looks, and gazed at 
her longingly, for he fancied that death was creating the 
sweet vision to escort him gently across to the other 
shore. 

But reality had yet too much power over him, and as 
the face bent over him, and he actually felt the soft, per- 
fumed breath, he knew that it was no dream, but that the 
loved one was really bodily in his house, in his room, 
in his arms ! With a mighty, with a sublime effort, he 
shook off the bonds with which the subtle poison had 
begun to fetter him, and raised himself. And then he 
saw, with despair in his sinking heart, that he, the Mas- 
ter of Intrigues, had acted like an apprentice, had lost 
his game by a wretched, hasty blunder ! 

She stared at him with strange-looking eyes, for she 
knew not what to make of him, and yet she knew, she saw, 
that something fearful must have happened here ! He 
was in high fever, his face all aglow, his eyes wandering. 

“ Put your arms around my neck,” he said, “ then I 
can die quietly.” 

Instinctively she drew back from this hand which 
seemed to her to be stretched out from the lower regions. 


FATAL LOVE. 


215 


She was terrified, for she had expected a very different 
scene. She had expected to find a man mad with love, but 
not a man wounded to death. For a moment she paused, 
not knowing what to think, what to do. Then she turned 
to flee. But with a fearful curse he seized her by the hair 
and pulled her down to him on the couch. 

“You do not seem disposed to die with me!” he 
sneered. “ There is enough for you left in the cup !” 

He kissed her and she felt paralyzed in all her limbs. 

“Oh, Baldwin,” she begged, with a faint voice. “Oh, 
Baldwin, let me go — I’ll run — to buy some antidote.” 

“ You might forget to come back,” he replied ; “ better 
stay here — why do you not drink ? — drink, my treasure ! 
—come with me across the river — to the other shore — 
everything is so dull here and tiresome !” 

He wanted to say more, to do much, to kiss her or to 
kill her, he knew not which — but the short effort of his 
will succumbed to the fatal benumbing power of the 
drug. While he was searching for words that might 
make an impression upon her, his consciousness began 
to leave him again, and his tongue would not move. 
Then an irresistible indifference and weariness over- 
powered him, and he sank back with heavy breathings. 

Lily tried to raise herself, shuddering with icy horror, 
but she could not get up, her hair being still held by the 
hand of the dying man, and she uttered shriek after shriek. 
She turned and twisted to get free from the iron grasp of 
the spasmodic hand, but she could not, and this struggle 
with a dead man threatened to upset her reason. At last 
she succeeded with her two hands to break open the rap- 
idly stiffening fingers, and to set herself free ; but quite 
a bunch of her hair remained between the fingers, as if 
her victim — for was she not his murderess ? — wanted to 
carry a souvenir of her with him into the grave. 

.She was superstition by nature and by education, and 


216 


FATAL LOVE. 


at once the idea took possession of her that the dead 
man was going to use that hair in order to draw her after 
him into his grave. She wanted to escape, but she found 
she had no strength. She sank down into a chair and 
remained there many hours, her eyes fixed immovably 
on his pale face, and with all the power of her will she 
found herself unable to withdraw them from the appall- 
ing spectacle. At last she broke out into a loud hysteri- 
cal laugh, and this shock to her nerves fortunately broke 
the charm. 

“ It is all true,” she said to herself ; and aloud, “ the 
thing is true. He has taken poison. He has killed 
himself.” 

She now remembered that he had said there was 
enough in the cup for her. She took it and tasted a few 
drops. It was bitter ; she set the cup down and shud- 
dered with a sense of death. 

She began to think once more. Was life worth living ? 
Might she not make an end of it as he had done ? Be- 
sides, what would the world say ? Should she go away 
now, or wait till people came and found her there ? 
Would she have to appear in court and give her evidence 
of what she had seen and experienced here at this hour 
of the night ? 

She saw clearly her great danger. She had been seen 
going to the house ; she could not go away again without 
being seen by the servants. It was very probable — it 
was quite certain, she would be summoned to appear in 
court. She might even be charged with murder ! 

What could — what must she do ? 

With a contemptuous smile on her lips she raised the 
goblet once more and carried it as far as her mouth — 
there, of a sudden, the image of her lost daughter 
appeared before her mind’s eye, and her eyes lost their 
fixed expression. Then a flood of tears streamed down 


AT THE GRAVE. 


217 


the pale cheeks. She hurled the cup away with genuine 
horror, so that the glass broke with a loud crash, and the 
death-bringing beverage soaked into the carpet. With 
a fierce shriek, and after a last shy glance at the dead 
man, she ran and ran as if a spectre was coming after 
her in eager pursuit. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

AT THE GRAVE. 

Sylvia was pleasantly engaged in devising, with the 
assistance of a renowned 7nodiste and her own dressmaker, 
a mourning costume which would combine in its “ ten- 
dency ” respectful grief for a lost mother with the neces- 
sary regard for the fashions of the world, when her 
father’s old valet appeared at the door. A glance at his 
pale face and distorted features prepared her for another 
calamity, but when he summoned at last courage to tell’ 
her the dreadful news, she showed her usual wonderful 
self-control. She felt for a moment as if this blow were 
too much for her, and a sinking feeling warned her that 
she might faint. She at once took the old man’s arm, 
and, resting on it, she went slowly but resolutely up the 
long, steep stairs that led to her father’s little study. 

A cry escaped her when she saw the horror with her 
own eyes ; the dead body on the couch, the goblet on the 
carpet. 

In a whisper the servant told her, as she was sitting there 
with her hands hiding the fearful scene from her eyes, of 
the restlessness and the melancholy which the faithful old 
Servant of late had noticed in his beloved master ; he re- 


218 


AT THE GRAVE. 


lated the circumstances, as far as he knew them, which 
had accompanied the piteous end, and mentioned also the 
name of the lady who had left the house at midnight 
like a fugitive. 

This report at once restored to the worldly-wise girl 
her full, elastic power. She saw that she here faced an 
event which might be fatal to the name and fame of her 
father, in fact to the social standing of the whole family, 
and that it lay in her hand to keep the calamity from the 
world. This great responsibility, instead of overwhelm- 
ing her, served to restore to her the full control over her 
mental powers. She secured the silence of the old man, 
appealing to his attachment to his old master and the 
whole family, and then sent immediately for the family 
physician, who was fortunately a safe and discreet man, in 
whose friendship she had perfect confidence. To him 
she revealed all, judging that confidence, to be valued, 
must be complete, and received in return the assurance of 
his hearty and energetic cooperation. 

Thus she succeeded in making it appear that apoplexy 
had suddenly struck the great man down, as he rested 
from his absorbing work in this world, by communing, as 
far as he could, with the higher powers of another world. 
Only a few very intimate friends were permitted to guess 
part of the reality, but the bronze hair, which the dead 
man took into the grave with him, was seen by the physi- 
cian only and the old valet. The house of mourning was 
almost literally buried under thousands of thousands of 
evidences of sympathy from the powers that be, from his 
compeers in the high courts of the realm and the princes 
of finance, down to the humblest depositors in his various 
banks, and the recipients of his charities under various 
forms. The largest hall of the sumptuous building had, by 
the skilful management of the society called Pietas, 
which undertook only funerals of the highest class and 


AT THE GRAVE. 


219 


character, been transformed into a chapelle ardente , in 
which tall silver candlesticks stood around the bier on 
a platform that was nearly concealed behind groups of 
rarest, tropical plants. The reverend-looking, white- 
haired old gentleman who directed the work of a 
number of black-costumed underlings, aided by a score 
or two house-servants in new liveries of black and silver, 
cast a last long look at the preparations, wiped a few 
drops of perspiration, which he alone perceived, from his 
forehead, afld emptying a glass of old Madeira, which 
the valet, his dear old friend, had taken care to have on 
hand, he said : 

“ I presume he himself” — and made a mysterious ges- 
ture with the hand. 

“Oh, no ! Never !” asserted the servant, faithful to his 
promise. The reverend man, however, said nothing and 
only looked a little more melancholy. 

“ In so young a widower it is remarkable,” he contin- 
ued. “ Bachelors and widowers rarely do it. I do not 
think more than five per cent. But, was it not the young 
one rather — eh ?” 

The valet pretended not to understand, and solemnly 
emptied his own glass of wine, which he knew how to 
appreciate, having felt it his duty now for many years 
carefully to sample his master’s wines. The hour of the 
great ceremony drew near ; the surrounding streets were 
crowded with people of all ages and all conditions, and 
when the procession at last started from the house, the 
experts affirmed that there must have been more than 
ten thousand spectators present. The news of Comet’s 
decease had made a deep and painful impression upon 
the minds of the party, among whose principal leaders 
he had always been counted, and they availed themselves 
now of the magnificent funeral prepared by his family 
in order to testify their sympathy with the aspirations of 


220 


AT THE GRAVE. 


the departed, as well as their own principles and polit- 
ical views. 

Several of his friends spoke at the grave, eloquent men 
who were fully able while praising the good qualities 
and brilliant achievements of the deceased, ^to bring for- 
ward and exhibit in an admirable light their own reli- 
gious or political convictions. The loudest and most 
general applause, however, fell to the share of a renowned 
professor who possessed a special gift to keep always 
slightly ahead of what, with rare perspicacity, he dis- 
cerned to be the popular tendency of the day, and com- 
bined with it a happy talent of using the catch-words of 
the period as if they were his own happy inventions. 
He waited for a signal of the reverend man that all the 
appointed orators ” had had their time, and now came 
forward to crown the ceremony with his masterpiece of 
eloquence. His speech was brilliant, and if it did not 
add one new leaf to the laurel wreath which all these 
great men and orators to-day had woven around the 
brow of the departed, it added largely to the speaker’s 
renown, and soon after brought him the long-coveted 
reward — his election to the Imperial Diet. 

The brighter and the more widely spread, however, 
these eulogies were, the more painfully did the family 
feel the secret thorn of their knowledge. Old Doctor 
Steelyard, especially, listened to these orations, in which 
truth and fiction were so strangely interwoven, with 
great bitterness in his heart, and sadness in his soul. 
Nor did Mrs. Clara Steelyard, the sister of the dead man, 
suffer less from this new blow that fell upon the family. 
She had been for several days in a state of painful excite- 
ment about her son Alfonse, who had mysteriously dis- 
appeared, for a little note in which he spoke of the neces- 
sity of making a short trip for recreation was not of the 
kind to blind any one. And now came this crushing 


AT THE GRAVE. 


221 


blow — the loss of a brother whom she had truly loved. 
Although he had not exactly been a good brother, but 
had, on the contrary, rather fostered her weak propensi- 
ties, and encouraged her in her false education of her son, 
she^till was grateful to him who forebore scolding her 
and kindly indulged her in her foibles. He had been her 
pride and her glory. She had admiringly watched his 
success and his triumph over all his enemies, and had 
looked upon his fine mansion, with its brilliant entertain- 
ments and famous feasts, as a kind of family temple, so 
that now she felt, as she said, as “ if the whole world was 
breaking to pieces.” 

Sylvia kept up during the first days because so much 
was required of her. This clear-sighted young girl de- 
veloped in this crisis a very unusual energy, and without 
consulting brother or sister, or even her betrothed, she 
seized the reins of the home government and held them 
in a firm and masterful hand. 

She took her father’s keys and examined his papers, 
partly in order to destroy every trace that might here- 
after lead to the discovery of many things that had to be 
kept secret, and partly to ascertain if there were any tes- 
tamentary directions to be found. After having searched 
conscientiously through the whole house, and after burn- 
ing every paper that seemed suspicious, but without 
finding any trace of a last will, she went, with a notary, 
to the Bank of which her father had so long been pres- 
ident. Here she continued her search, and at last found 
her labors rewarded. A succinct account of all his funds 
and property of every kind, carefully kept and balanced 
to the last day of his life — and his.secret correspondence. 
She burnt all letters and pictures, without reading the 
former, and merely glancing at the latter. A testament 
was not to be found, but the list of all the deceased had 
owned, and the manner in which he wished each member 


222 


AT THE GRAVE. 


of his family to be endowed, was sufficient. She found 
herself an heiress to the amount of at least a million. 

When, however, everything had been set in order, 
when the funeral was over, and the remoter kinsmen had 
returned to their more or less distant homes, she felt 
almost prostrated, and deep sadness filled her soul. She 
felt great repugnance to receive visits of condolence, and 
the knowledge which she, and she alone possessed, of her 
father’s real end, made her shrink even from contact with 
her own family. Thus it came about that she sent a 
small note to her betrothed, in which she begged him, 
from consideration for her personal feelings, to break off, 
for a time, their correspondence, and, of course, their 
meetings also, had her trunks packed and went to visit 
a distant city, where her older sister’s servant was in 
garrison. Here, she hoped, new surroundings might 
rouse her from her prostration. 

Edward Frank felt little pleasure in reading that let- 
ter. “ When does she need me,” he said to himself, “if 
not in the hour when grief and sorrow visit her? She 
has a man’s temper, and I fear she will try to make me a 
‘ Prince Consort ’ rather than a husband.” Fortunately, 
however, there came soon after, a letter from Italy which 
led his thoughts into a new channel. This was a most 
liberal offer made by one of his princely patrons in that 
distant land, and for some time he felt undecided. He 
was walking up and down in his room, uncertain whether 
he should consult his betrothed, when a knock came to 
his door, and upon invitation a veiled lady entered. 

Astonished, he gazed at her, as she paused on the 
threshold and examined him with her brilliant, black 
eyes, which actually blazed through the black veil. She 
was slender and tall, and her carriage betrayed the hab- 
its of good society. In a few hardly intelligible words, 
she apologized for her intrusion, sat down on the chair 


AT THE GRAVE. 


223 


which Edward at once courteously offered her, and then 
threw back her veil. The light of a hanging-lamp, with 
a large reflector above it, fell in full force upon a pale 
face on which fierce passions unfortunately had left fiery 
traces, but which to Edward’s artistic eye revealed all 
the elements of a regular and uncommonly seductive 
beauty ; on the other hand, what did that portentous 
expression mean which spoke of an energetic will and of 
so many trials, so many fierce battles for the suprem- 
acy ? 

The imprint of high mental powers was not to be mis- 
taken, nor the seal of high breeding. But what struck 
Edward most, was the almost immediate conviction, that 
he had met this person before, although he was utterly 
at a loss to say where that could have been ? He surely 
had seen that remarkable high forehead with the wonder- 
fully deep-seated eyes and the light, curling hair above it ? 
But where and when ? Besides, at a glance, he noticed a 
certain air of frivolity, a breath of that weariness that 
adheres to many who have drained the cup of life to the 
dregs, and this feature removed the face again out of the 
circle of his few friends. 

Evidently she had to overcome a slight sense of 
embarrassment, but as soon as this was put aside, she 
came at once with the pointed certainty of people of the 
world, to the motive of her visit. 

“Mr. Frank,” she said, “I happen to know of your 
engagement to Miss Sylvia Comet. I was a friend — a 
near friend — to her father, who has just left us.” 

Edward looked at her with great surprise. 

“ My name is Lily Blank.” 

Edward bowed. He remembered having heard that 
name, and connected with it a reputation of great 
eccentricity, and an at least doubtful mode of life in the 


224 : 


AT THE GRAVE. 


fashionable circles of the great city. What he had heard 
of her had not prepossessed him. 

“I have,” she continued with an unusually firm voice 
and utterly undismayed by the manifestly unfavorable 
impression which this mention of her name was produc- 
ing, “I have heard your name spoken as that of a 
courteous and chivalrous man, and I felt prompted, 
therefore, to come to you first of all among the members 
of the family Comet, in order to secure aid and advice 
for a lady in trouble.” 

“I pray, madame, you will honor me with your ‘confi- 
dence.’ ” 

“ The matter is very delicate,” she said, biting her lower 
lip and breathing deeply, “and a matter which may be 
utterly hopeless. But I do not mean to abandon all hope 
until I have tried literally everything that can be tried.” 

A single tear fell upon her gloved hand. 

Edward once more promised to help her as far as he 
could. She waited a few moments, and then continued 
in an easier tone : 

“ I am in search of a person who is very deap to me, 
and my only comfort is the thought that this world is 
after all very small.” 

“ Madame,” said Edward seriously, “ you may be right 
as long as you speak of the so-called upper classes, but I 
doubt much that your axiom is as true when we speak 
of the great mass of the common people.” 

“ No,” she cried anxiously, “you must not — you shall 
not rob me of my consolation ! I tell you I must find her 
— I must.” 

“ I am far from desirous to discourage you,” he said 
calmly. “ At all events you may rest assured of my cordial 
assistance.” 

She rested her head on her hands, and told him, with 
cast-down eyes, as much of her relations to the departed 


AT THE GRAVE. 


225 


banker and as much of her own past as she deemed nec- 
essary to win the ‘young artist’s sympathy with herself 
and her cause. She told him finally that she was in 
search of her daughter, whom she had never seen, and 
whom, for long years, she had believed to be dead. 

“It is not possible,” she concluded, “ at least I do not 
think it possible, that among his papers there should not 
be something that might lead to the child. He cannot 
have left the poor thing unprovided for. It is true, he 
told me himself that he did not know where she was, as 
she had changed her place of residence contrary to his 
will, but I know that this was merely a device of his. 
He had his reasons to conceal from me first that she was 
alive, and later where she was living. May God pardon 
him this secrecy, for it would be fearful if Dy such mis- 
trust a poor mother should be forever robbed of the love 
of a daughter ! Therefore I come to you, sir, to beg you 
will, for my sake, try to get access to his papers, and 
without betraying me, to find in his papers what is so 
important for my happiness. By the aid of your be- 
trothed or of the executor — I know nothing of the de- 
tails — you can no doubt easily get the information. You 
see, I trust, that no other way remained for me if I 
wished to avoid a scandal that would ruin me.” 

“ And you, madame, have you really no means ? Do 
you really not even know the girl’s name ?” 

“I know that she was called Francisca Welborn. At 
least he said so. But this is absolutely all I know. I 
have not even a portrait. I have advertised in that 
name in the public papers, but all in vain.” 

Edward was conscious that in his present relations to 
his betrothed, and with her extreme reserve, the task 
which this lady imposed upon him was not an easy one. 
And yet he could not compel himself to deny a mother’s 
lacerated heart at least one effort to ascertain her secret. 


226 


THE CAUTIOUS HEIRESS. 


He promised, therefore, the inquiring eyes and the 
beseeching lips all they demanded. 

She seemed, however, to have read his momentary hesi- 
tation and fear in his face, for she seized his hands and 
said with an inimitable gesture of prayer and of trusting 
confidence : “ I am sure of your warm sympathy, and 

my heart tells me that I have found a friend in you 
and an ally. The good God has marked your face with 
the expression of a noble heart. You will not disappoint 
my hopes ! I feel in your presence a peace which has 
been for years a stranger to my life, and my hopes revive, 
giving me new courage to fight my desperate battle.” 
Then she rose, drew the veil once more down over her 
face, and went away. 

He looked long after her, admiring her wondrously 
graceful carriage and her eloquent eyes, and felt deep 
sympathy with her mournful fate. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE CAUTIOUS HEIRESS. 

Sylvia was sitting with her sister Clara, Doctor Steel- 
yard’s god child, in the red boudoir, meditating on 
her future. The short journey, the new impressions, had 
already benefited her and although still pale she looked 
well again. Her black eyes rested upon her sister’s face 
with the old flash of mental superiority, and a critical 
expression. 

“The family has been signally unfortunate of late,” 
she said, “wherever I look, I see mourning. From cousin 
Alfonse I expect little that is good. He is a nice fellow, 


THE CAUTIOUS HEIRESS. 


227 


but as long as I know him, as little to be counted upon 
as the weather. To-day green, to-morrow who knows 
what ? He is sure to be doing mischief somewhere. I 
do not wonder aunt is so anxious about him. It is too 
remarkable how utterly and how suddenly he has dis- 
appeared, leaving no trace whatever behind ; Clara, we 
must be very careful with our money. You see we have 
no parents. We are perfectly alonb. Even Ephraim did 
not come to the funeral. And to think of our great 
uncle Liondell ! A man so immeasurably rich ! And 
not — what good are all his millions to the poor old man ? 
It is the grief for Amadeus that has pulled him down so ! 
He has not been the same man ever since the day on 
which Amadeus fell from his horse. How his good heart 
was wound up with that boy !” 

“I suppose Countess Hyacinth will now marry that 
Count Eyry ?” asked Clara. 

“I am told he is gone to Russia.” 

“ Yes, but my husband says he does not think the young 
man can get there in time for the expedition against the 
— the people with the awful name, that I never can 
remember.” 

“ Countess Hyacinth was not very civil to me. How 
did you like her ?” 

“ I have only seen her once. She looked to me very 
haughty.” 

“ I do not think she suited Amadeus. Oh, Clara, how 
strangely God’s ways are not our ways ! To think what 
projects Amadeus had formed, when he should inherit 
his father’s millions — and now— By the way, Clara, what 
did your husband think of the investments ?” 

“He .was only surprised there should be so much; 
otherwise he said nothing !” 

“It is much,” said Sylvia. “We shall be able to live 


228 


THE CAUTIOUS HEIRESS. 


very handsomely, perhaps to do even more than that. 
My intention is, when I marry, my husband shall give up 
most of his work, and only carry out the grandest and the 
finest structures. An artist can be > in his way, just as 
distinguished and eminent as an officer. Baron Werner 
paints only princely personages and great battle pieces. 
My idea is that Edward shall only take orders from the 
Emperor, from princes, and the most eminent person- 
ages.” 

“ To be sure,” said Clara admiringly. “ And then he 
may become a professor !” 

‘‘ Ah !” laughed Sylvia, “ professor is nothing now- 
adays ! He must have a much higher title than that, and 
get a place in the cabinet !” 

“ To be sure !” repeated Clara. 

While they were thus coolly discussing their inherit- 
ance, a letter from her betrothed came for Sylvia. In 
this note, abounding in protestations of exalted attach- 
ment and perfect devotion, he announced his arrival on 
the same day. Sylvia did not understand this disobedi- 
ence and was rather troubled. 

Edward had overcome his scruples and reached the 
blue room with a heart overflowing with love and 
devotion. Tears came to his eyes as he saw the beauti- 
ful, clever face, and the black costume, and thought of 
the sorrow his beloved had to bear. He could hardly 
utter a word and held her closely pressed to his bosom, 
till she pushed him back with quiet force. Theri at last 
he found words, and spoke with cordial warmth of his 
new plans. 

“ My dearest, sweetest Sylvia,” he said, “ I bring you 
such pleasant news, and a proposal which, I am sure, will 
delight you also.” 

Sylvia looked at him at at once with doubting glances. 
She remembered that Edward’s favorite proposals had 


THE CAUTIOUS HEIRESS. 


229 


rarely been such as to elicit great admiration in her, and 
she waited, therefore, now also to hear the details. 
“ Only this thought,” he continued, “could give me 
courage to act contrary to your wishes, for you know 
how obedient I always am.” 

“Just imagine,” he continued, “I got a letter from 
Prince Pallavicini, whose acquaintance I made in Italy, 
in Rome, last year, and who has always shown me great 
kindness. He intends renovating an old castle which 
he has fallen heir to in one of the most romantic situa- 
tions near Naples, and he asks me to make a plan. This 
is something quite out of the usual routine, and will take 
some time. The letter has delighted me more than I 
can tell you. I had never imagined that the prince, an 
elderly man, would gain sufficient confidence in my talent 
to give me the preference over so many famous architects 
among his own countrymen. The letter opens a new 
and most promising outlook for me in my profession, 
and fills me with brightest hopes. I am going to build 
my noble patron a home that shall be .worthy of his 
illustrious race, of his own vast possessions and his 
boundless hospitality. I mean to build it in the purest 
Grecian style, and delight in the idea of having a free 
hand to do something grand and beautiful. You will 
go with me to Italy, and we shall have a genuine artist’s 
career before us, while we escape, at the same time, from 
the tattle of idle people and from the mournful impres- 
sions which have already driven you away from Berlin.” 

Sylvia cast down her eyes. 

“ I cannot help wondering, Edward,” she said, “ that 
you should think of our union now, in the first weeks of 
my deep sorrow.” 

“I understand,” he said, eagerly, “that you are 
depressed, but where could you find better consolation 
than in my love ?” 


230 


THE CAUTIOUS HEIRESS. 


“ Dear Edward, you men drive straight ahead and do 
not look at the road ; but you ought to bear in mind 
that common decency even demands my forgetting all 
that has happened between us, at least for half a year.” 

“ Common decency !” exclaimed Edward, with great 
impatience in his tone and manner. “Well then, let us 
sacrifice the half year to the world ! But what do you 
think of the other part of my suggestion ? Does this 
order of the prince not rejoice you as it does me ? Does 
it not delight you to have a life in Italy before you, if 
you so choose ? Think of that grand, magnificent 
structure which is to be entrusted to my invention — to 
my decoration !” 

“ Oh, certainly,” said Sylvia, “ only, my dear 
Edward — ” 

“ Well, then, listen ! You are depressed now and can- 
not see things except through a veil, darkly — but cross 
the Alps, look down upon the land where the oranges 
grow, and you will see things differently ! Let it be, 
therefore, as I said. I’ll come in six months to fetch you, 
my betrothed, and you will see how fair and how happy 
life can be ! We Germans are, after all, still genuine 
barbarians, and the poorest beggar on the Chiaja in 
Naples lives freer and happier than the Privy Councilor 
or the General in his study here, and he knows it. Offer 
some work to a lazzarone. If it does not suit him, he 
does not accept it. He will not do it for much gold. 
He has the glorious light of his Southern sky, the won- 
derful sea with its thousand ever-changing hues, and for 
a few pence he can eat enough for a day. He is the real 
king. To tell the truth, I have always had a kind of 
homesickness for Italy. Here men are Scythians ; they 
have no idea of art. What they put here on canvas, 
what they carve here out of marble, hurts me. And this 
climate ! Every man here has a barometer — a thing 


THE CAUTIOUS HEIRESS. 


231 


which to them is utterly unknown. Here, the uncon- 
scious longing for the light of the sun drives people 
every day anew to the glass to see if the weather will 
never, never be bright again. There, fine weather is a 
matter of course, at least as much so as air for our 
breathing. Ah ! my dearest Sylvia, we shall be so 
happy down there ! No foolish ceremonies will hamper 
us at every step. We shall walk on marble, we shall sail 
across the transparent sea, and when everything above us 
and around us is full of life and glow and fire, listen to 
the gay barcaroles of happy fishermen !” 

It had never struck Sylvia as much as to-day how 
greatly her lover, after all, was deficient in genuine, 
refined culture. He had ideas, words and views which 
made her shiver. He would have to change greatly 
before she could make up her mind to make him her 
husband. 

“My dear Edward,” she said, “I cannot judge of the 
beauty of Italy, as I have never been there. I remem- 
ber, however, that friends of mine told much of certain 
peculiarities of hotels, which made a stay at Naples 
almost impossible. People evidently differ in their views. 
Nor can I deny that I should be better pleased if you 
could secure permanent and lucrative employment in 
Berlin, rather than run after adventurous projects. Your 
favorable view of art in Italy, I presume, is only the 
result of a momentary bad humdr, such as befalls young 
artists very often when they think that the deserved 
rewards are withheld from them. I have often told you 
a young artist cannot expect that men will, simply to 
please him, abandon the old views and establish a new 
school ! Your great patron is generally looked upon as 
an eccentricity of the first water, and his taste stands 
almost alone. If you had followed poor papa’s advice, 
and had drawn up a plan for old Uncle Liondell’s new 


232 


THE CAUTIOUS HEIRESS. 


villa, with the kitchen in a separate, detached building, 
you would now be all the fashion, and grand-uncle’s sad 
state of mind would have had nothing to do with your 
contract.” 

Edward Frank, with all the love in his heart, which he 
really felt, could not help seeing that between him and 
his betrothed there was a gulf that would be difficult to 
bridge over. Deeply wounded in what was most sacred 
to him on earth, the worship of the beautiful, he saw how 
far their minds and hearts were apart. A deadly snow- 
storm buried the greening growth of his hopes in an 
instant. He was, however, rather indignant than resent- 
ful, and with flashing eyes and raised voice, he said to 
her : 

“You speak too logically, Sylvia, to speak uncon- 
sciously. But mind this one thing: I shall never follow 
such wretched, worldly wisdom, and if this .is an imped- 
iment to our union, our paths in life will have to go in 
different directions.” 

Sylvia stared, frightened, at his manly face, and her 
cheeks lost all color. She had not meant that ! He 
looked so grand and beautiful in his wrath ! The light 
hair surrounded his head with a bright halo, the slender, 
admirably built form seemed to grow in his indignation, 
and once more — as so often before — she had to confess to 
herself that he was perhaps the finest looking man she 
had ever seen in her life. She felt, deep in her heart, 
that in spite of all his shortcomings, she would find it 
hard to lose him. 

“ Do you so easily give me up ?” she asked. “ Is your 
love so fickle that it cannot bear your vanity to be 
offended by calm reasoning ? Is it possible that now in my 
deep sorrow you can inflict upon me such grief? You 
are silent ! Well, then I only see how far your love is 
beneath mine. You might say to me what you chose — I 


THE CAUTIOUS HEIRESS. 


233 


could not forsake you thus ! Is not my whole future life 
built upon you as its foundation ? Do I not put my 
whole trust and confidence in you ? How can you then 
misunderstand me so grievously ? You know that — if 
you give me up, I stand literally, utterly alone in the 
world !” 

Edward looked at the large, tear-filled eyes, he saw the 
trembling, quivering red lips he had so often kissed, and 
an impulse of .compassion got the upper hand over his 
indignation. With a truly noble effort he blamed him- 
self, thinking he might have been too rough and rude with 
his betrothed, at an hour, too, when she needed the most 
tender treatment. He at once tried to console her, and 
said, with an effort to soothe her : “ We can return to those 
plans of mine some other day, for to reject at once and 
forever the generous offer of my Neapolitan prince, would, 
I fear, make a bad impression.” 

But if he expected Sylvia to meet him half-way, or 
even a step or two at least, he was doomed to disap- 
pointment ; not a word did she say in return to his gener- 
ous self-surrender, and just at this moment he remem- 
bered the commission he had so rashly undertaken : the 
inquiry among the old banker’s papers for the benefit of 
the poor mother in search of her lost child. He felt 
bound to do it, for he had promised — but how unpropi- 
tious was the moment ! 

“Is there anything else you wish to tell me?” his 
betrothed asked him, for she read his mind in his open 
face. Edward had to do what he had promised he 
would try to do, for the opportunity might never return. 
Besides, he was ashamed to be afraid of a girl, and to lack 
the courage needed to do a good deed. 

He sat down opposite Sylvia and told her why he 
desired to be allowed to look into her father’s papers — 
that it was for a person in distress, and who had at least 


234 : 


THE CAUTIOUS HEIRESS. 


a certain right to ask the favor. He accompanied his 
request, moreover, with all assurances he could think of, 
but noticed at once that either his diplomatic skill was 
very small, or Sylvia’s self-will very strong, for her face 
looked icy cold, and her broad brow darkened ominous- 
ly. Her thoughts had immediately reverted to that 
huge volume in which her father had entered the 
different amounts which together constituted his im- 
mense fortune, and in which of course her own share, a mil- 
lion, was carefully recorded. Until now she had consid- 
ered Edward a man who lacked perhaps the finer, higher 
culture, and was utterly unpractical, but she had always 
believed in his perfectly candid and honest heart. But 
now she thought he bore a mask, and concealed behind 
it a calculating spirit and a covetous disposition. It was 
infamous ! Now that she refused to go to Italy with 
him, he wanted to convince himself if she was at all 
worth making sacrifices for ! He wanted to know how 
much she owned ! The same spirit which after her 
father’s death had enabled her to assume the supreme 
command in the house at once, supported her here also. 

“The inheritance of my sainted father,” she told him 
calmly, “is sacred to me, and no one shall intrude upon 
it. Not even my brother-in-law has raised any such 
claims ; and not my brothers nor my sisters have seen a 
single paper You know that I was, of all his children, 
the one who, of latfe, lived in close communion with him 
and enjoyed his special confidence. I act as I think he 
would have wished me to act, had he foreseen the terri- 
ble calamity.” 

Edward turned red. “ I cannot imagine,” he said to 
Sylvia, “what can make you act in this extraordinary 
way. I will not inquire into your motives. Besides, I 
have given my word not to betray the person whose 
agent I am.” 


THE CAUTIOUS HEIRESS. 


235 


“ That is an additional reason, then, why I shall not 
allow those precious papers to be disturbed.” 

“ Be calm, Sylvia, I beseech you. The question is one 
which can be settled in the quietest way, but which may 
also develop very embarrassing difficulties if you refuse 
to trust me.” 

“ What you say, my dear Edward, only confirms my 
decision that I shall not allow you or any one to examine 
the books,” she said most decidedly. Sh'e convinced her- 
self more and more that her betrothed only wished to 
obtain a knowledge and an influence which she was de- 
termined never to let him gain. Even if for the present 
his purpose was not so much to inquire after the money 
matters, as after some secret affair, she would not allow 
any such intrusion. She had spent days and nights even 
in perusing all the papers and letters of her father, his 
private correspondence as well as his 'official letters, in 
settling everything in order, and in destroying every 
scrap of paper that could possibly have caused annoy- 
ance if it had fallen into improper hands. She had burnt 
whole piles of paper. She now felt perfectly secure, and 
knew that nothing could be found to embarrass the fam- 
ily. But against her betrothed she had unfortunately 
conceived this mistrust, and such indignation that she 
was almost determined to break with him altogether. 

Edward,’ however, was quite as much seized with 
anger and bitterness, by both her refusal and the tone 
in which she spoke. 

“ I see,” he said, “ you know exactly what you want. 
That is, no doubt, a valuable quality, but I cannot con- 
ceal from you that in a woman whom I wish to make my 
wife I look for more yielding affection, more gentleness, 
in fact more of a womanly character.” 

These words drove her to a decision. She rose, and 
said in a cold, sharp voice: 


236 


THE CAUTIOUS HEIRESS. 


“ It may be that you do not find in me what you are 
looking for. I also have seen that we do not suit each 
other. I release you. It will be best we say farewell 
to each other, and avoid meeting in the future.” 

The business-way in which Sylvia could speak, this 
masculine energy of a lady who looked so tender and so 
delicate, chilled Edward to his innermost heart. 

“If I were to treat with a lawyer, I could not expect 
other words,” he said to himself. 

He drew the ring from his finger, with which, according 
to the custom of the land, he had bound himself to Syl- 
via, laid it silently and with a bow on the table, and went 
out. 

She remained standing like a statue in the middle of 
the room, and looked after him with a face that seemed 
to be carved of alabaster. Then she sank with a -deep 
sigh back into her chair and looked, sadly at the future. 
She had done her duty, and was convinced she had 
secured her happiness in life — but life itself appeared to 
her veiled by gray, dismal mists. 

In the meantime Edward went straight to the railway 
station and returned to the city by the next train. He 
was astonished at his great calmness. He felt relieved — 
as if a burden had been taken from him. He soon 
began no longer to look back with regret, but to look 
forward to the future with bright anticipations. Of 
course his vanity was there, much offended, much lacer- 
ated, and whenever his thoughts went back to the scene 
in the blue-room, he felt a certain bitterness at heart. 
But the sting did not enter deep, and his thoughts were 
quite ready to take him from his prudent, calculating 
betrothed to sweeter and more pleasant images. 

The thought that he had signally failed in obtaining 
the desired information for the poor, ill-treated mother, 
pained him deeply, but he determined to try his best to 


THE BETROTHAL. 


237 


obtain for her access to one or the other of the lawyers 
connected with the great banker’s affairs. 

And then there arose before his mind’s eye, in an 
entirely new light, an image which he had almost forci- 
bly pushed into the back-ground, though never forgotten 
— the image of the fair orphan who had met his toast to 
the Eternal Gods with a smile which was indelibly 
engraven on his memory. “ She would never demand,” 
he said to himself, “ that her betrothed should only visit 
in good society, and anxiously crave orders from bankers 
and other high personages.” His lively imagination at 
once built up tempting visions. He saw a quiet, happy 
home, where Alma ruled, if she would follow him to Italy 
to bless him by her love, unmindful of what people might 
say. With her he would rove through field and forest, 
and sail across the blue waters, never caring anxiously for 
much plate and fine damask and the last fashions, but 
quite content with the simple maccaroon and the bottle 
of Capri wine, which they could enjoy under the shade 
of a vine-covered bower, with a genuine piece of Para- 
dise spread out at their feet, and the world miles and 
miles away, out of sight and out of hearing. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE BETROTHAL. 

Edward Frank’s first duty was to go to the Baroness 
Blank and to report to her the failure of his efforts, and 
to advise her to choose other agents for the discovery of 
her all-important secret. She came to meet him eagerly, 
and led him with a hand so cold that he felt the coldness 
through the kid glove, to the arm-chair in which poor 


238 


THE BETROTHAL. 


old. Comet had so often been sitting. He told her of his 
trip, and the stubbornness of Miss Sylvia. She listened 
with rigid features, then she folded her hands and with 
tearful eyes she said : “ Oh, pray, try it once more with 
your betrothed !” 

“ I am excessively sorry,” he said to her, “ but my 
influence is at an end. Miss Sylvia Comet is my betrothed 
no longer. We have yesterday reached the conviction 
that we do not suit one another.” 

“ Surely,” she asked, frightened, “ my request has not 
been the cause of this rupture ?” 

“ The occasion perhaps, but not the cause, Baroness. 
You need not let that trouble you ! Our characters are 
too far apart to allow us to live so near together.” 

“ Live so near together !” she repeated, sighing and 
bowing her head. 

He looked down on the carpet, giving her time to 
reflect, deeply moved by the pain that spoke in her 
voice. 

“ What am I to do ?” she asked at last. 

He told her that he thought she was justly entitled to 
inquire if the banker’s last will did or did not contain 
certain provisions for herself or the lost child, and 
recommended her to apply to Doctor Steelyard, whose 
kindness of heart and firmness of mind were most likely 
to support her cautious inquiries. She seemed to be 
most painfully embarrassed, and assured him that she 
would never, never venture again to mention the circum- 
stances which she had entrusted to his well-meaning and 
discreet friendship. She twisted her hands and sobbed 
bitterly. 

Edward went to the window and looked out ; it was 
too painful to him to witness her painful and apparently 
irrepressible excitement. After a long pause he turned 
round, and in so doing perceived a portrait that was 


THE BETROTHAL. 


239 


standing on a chair, and instantly absorbed his whole 
attention. It was the face of a girl whom he knew well, 
whose image pursued him by day and by night — a face, 
moreover, of surpassing beauty. The sudden sight 
caused his blood to stop in the chambers of his heart, 
and so completely drove all thoughts of the baroness out 
of his mind that he hardly knew where he was. 

“ Where on earth did you get that picture ?” he asked, 
seizing the canvas and carrying it to the window for a 
better light. 

“ The picture seems to strike you,” she said, drawing 
nearer. “ That was my fate also when I saw it first, 
and thus I bought it at once, — for your happiness, it 
would seem, for you look fascinated !” 

“ No, that is not the whole of it ! I know, however, the 
original, and here: — see ! there is my dear friend’s name 
in large letters on the back ! He has made a master- 
piece of it, and yet, if he thinks a good painter oughf to 
embellish a portrait, he is mistaken, for this girl is a 
thousand times handsomer in nature, than on this can- 
vas.” 

The baroness looked with astonishment at the young 
man, and a wearied smile appeared in her face as she 
thought that no doubt tender relations existed between 
him and the original of the portrait. 

Edward noticed it and on his lips hung an apology ; 
but as he began, another look at the likeness suddenly 
made an end to the courteous speech, scarcely begun, 
and with rapidly increasing marvel, he went on examining 
one by one, the oval of the eyes, the amorous bow of her 
lips, the outline of her brow, in short, every single feature 
of her face. 

*' I do not know,” he said at last, with some hesitation ; 
“ have I merely indulged in a fancy, very common to 
artists, or do you really bear a most striking resemblance 


240 


THE BETROTHAL. 


to this girl ? I could swear, relying on my painter’s eye, 
that yommust have looked exactly as this picture when 
you were at that age. I beg your pardon.” 

She shook her head sadly. “You need not ask my 
pardon,” she said, “ I know that I am old. Once before 
I have been told that my brow is like this brow, but I do 
not flatter myself with the idea of ever having looked as 
this girl does !” 

“ We artists,” replied Edward, after a long, searching 
look, “ have some practice in reading features. A man 
must have a certain power of observation if he wants to 
do something in this line. I remember, besides, that 
when I first saw this likeness I thought it resembled my 
betrothed.” 

He paused, suddenly overcome by a new thought, and 
looked alternately at the baroness and then again at the 
portrait. 

“ What do you mean ?” asked the lady, who began 
feeling as if she also were affected by the thoughts that 
were stirring. 

“ I mean, that if you had not told me your child’s 
name was Francisca Welborn, I would have sworn to 
Heaven that this girl here was your daughter !” 

She uttered a wild cry and fell back a moment ; then she 
seized him by the arm with such vehemence that the 
picture fell to the ground and the frame broke to pieces. 

“ Where is she ? what is her name ? where does she 
live ? He can very well have lied to me with the name, 
as he did with the other statements. It was his nature 
to lie. Oh, tell me where she is ! Do not deceive me ! 
Tell me that again. If I had not — Oh, Lord of Heaven 
and Earth ! Could it have been a mother’s mistrust 
that made me love this child ? Ah ! if this sweet, dear, 
angelic face should be my daughter ! Have I not 


THE BETROTHAL 


241 


sought the painter up and down in all the studios of the 
city ?” 

Edward, himself greatly excited, had to beg her to 
compose her mind and to look at the picture carefully 
and critically. When he had taken up the likeness 
again, and leading Lily before a mirror, begged her to 
compare the two faces she saw there, and when he then 
told her all he knew about the girl’s antecedents, the con- 
viction was almost complete, and all doubts seemed to 
vanish. Lily would not delay a moment now, and in- 
sisted upon going at once to Punkinton, and to see the 
girl herself. She laughed and she wept, and was in a 
state of excitement which bordered upon insanity. 

Edward, however, preserving a cooler mind, repre- 
sented to her how grievously she might compromise her- 
self by such an open avowal — as her confession would of 
course immediately become known — and persuaded 
her at last to let him make first certain inquiries about 
the girl, while he promised promptly and fully to report 
all that might he discovered of the girl’s history. 

His first visit led to the Lehman family, where the 
fair orphan still was, who at first, apparently so entirely 
out of reach, had suddenly been brought so near to him 
— a change in their relative positions, which caused him 
no joy. For the baroness, who was so anxiously bent 
upon recovering her lost child, was by no means the 
woman to whom he would like to entrust his heart's 
love. He had to confess to himself that it was mainly 
this aversion to any intimacy between Alma and the 
family of the Baroness Blank, that had induced him to 
dissuade the latter so earnestly from visiting Alma at 
once. Half dreaming, half planning, the young painter 
thus walked down the streets and up the streets, feeling 
constantly for the prince’s precious letter in his breast- 
pocket, and starting several times as a bold, almost 


242 


THE BETROTHAL. 


daring thought, flashed through his mind. This idea 
was to go at once to Punkinton, to conquer Alma by 
storm, to secure her consent to an immediate marriage, 
and to start with her for Italy ! He could not but hope 
that Alma would at once agree with him and follow him 
willingly. It appeared to him as if he had a kind of 
property-claim on her; and then he remembered her 
looks, as if she acknowledged him now already as her 
one great Lord and Master on earth, whom she was 
bound to follow. 

After wandering many hours thus absorbed in a 
thousand day-dreams, he reached at last the house where 
the painter lived, and went up-stairs firmly resolved to 
do what he had promised the Baroness Blank to do. 

The family, father, mother and three children, were 
sitting at the table. Edward accepted the kind invita- 
tion to join them, and asked where Alma was. 

“ That girl will make me rich,” said the painter. “ I 
have copied her face seven times ; — once as a genuine 
portrait — and that brought me three hundred dollars. 
Then I have her as a Tyrolese girl fighting against the 
French troops ; twice she is Gretchen kneeling before the 
Holy Mother’s image.” 

“ Has she been here all the time ?” 

“ Oh, no ! All that was done after her first sitting.” 

“ She is in Punkinton,” added Mrs. Lehman, “and seems 
to be in the right place there. They are very pleased 
with her, and she wrote very gratefully from there, but 
never adding any message for you.” At these words the 
worthy lady looked at Edward with a shy smile. 
“And when will the wedding be, Mr. Frank ?” she added, 
smiling again. 

Edward raised his eyebrows and looked at Mrs. Leh- 
man in a manner which first made her marvel, and then 
caused her to laugh heartily. 


THE BETROTHAL. 


243 


“ What ?” she asked, “ was I right after all ? Is it all 
over?” 

Edward had to tell his story, which he made as brief as 
he could. The painter sighed, and then filled all the 
wine-glasses. “ Poor, poor friend ! A quiet glass,” he 
ordered. “ It must be terrible to walk single and alone 
through life, after one has seen the altar and the priest 
and the bride so near ! And I who had been hoping that 
it would be my privilege to adorn your rooms in such 
style after you should have married that rich heiress !” 

“ He is an idle, frivolous talker, my husband, Mr. 
Frank. Don’t you mind him !” said Mrs. Lehman, and 
smiled all love and devotion at Mr. Lehman. 

It was on the same day, a fair, bright Autumn day, 
that Alma came home towards sunset. She had carried 
a message from the worthy minister of Punkinton to his 
maids, who were busy in the out-lying fields. As she 
crossed the little primitive bridge which separates Punk- 
inton and the parsonage from the meadows, she paused 
a moment to look upon the peaceful scene before her, 
where the cozy, ivy-crowned house was lying in the 
golden rays of the setting sun. Surrounded by a large 
orchard, filled with trees almost bending under the bur- 
den of red and golden apples, of luscious, late plums and 
fragrant pears, it lay there half ensconced, a picture of 
blessed peace, and pure, well-earned happiness. And as 
she looked, she remembered, shuddering, the danger 
from which she had so recently and narrowly escaped, 
and thanked her Father in Heaven who had led her to 
such a safe harbor. The kitchen, the dairy and the 
orchard had been made her special domain, and they 
gave her labor enough to fill up the sadly shortening 
days. The household was a very modest one, and yet it 
was larger than usual, as, from the nature of the endow- 
ments of the church, the incumbent was compelled to 


THE BETROTHAL. 


2U 

cultivate nearly a hundred acres of land. This had nat- 
urally suggested the keeping of a small boarding-school, 
by means of which the surplus productions could be 
consumed on the spot. These boys, five in number, 
received here a thorough and strictly religious educa- 
tion. 

Like all boys, they also gave trouble at times, and like 

them, Alma’s duties likewise were not roses without 
thorns, and the wind blowing around the peaceful pas- 
sonage was often a very cold, cutting wind. She felt often 
that she was kindly, very kindly treated, but that after 
all she was, and remained a stranger. And the minister 
also, and his wife on their side, could not help feeling 
that in receiving Alma they had admitted into their 
modest household a being far superior to the products of 
the soil, a girl who had grown up in another atmosphere, 
and who needed another sun and moon and stars than 
those that were shining here. When they saw Alma’s 
beauty and watched her graceful motions, they could not 
resist the impression that this girl’s place was not in the 
dairy, nor in the orchard, nor in the kitchen, although they 
could not deny that she was in all these places the most 
industrious and at the same time the most skilful of all 
the girls they had ever had. Often the parson’s good 
wife had it on her tongue to warn the girl that she really 
ought not to dress so much in her modest condition, and 

then, just in time, came to her the conviction that after all 
Alma was not dressed in the least. Not a bow, not a 
ribbon could she find in Alma’s costume that was in the 
least objectionable, or that any other girl might not be 
found to wear precisely in the same way ; and the plain 
dress, reaching high up to the throat, as well as the almost 
puritanically severe simplicity with which her hair was 
arranged, were certainly not tokens of vanity or a desire 
to please. 


THE BETROTHAL. 


245 


Alma Betty could not well escape from feeling these 
objections made to her whote being and way of living, 
and often felt grieved that with all her efforts she could not 
find the way to the hearts of her benefactors. This made 
her life sad and lonely — it was in fact the life of a plant 
that has been moved away from its native home, and is 
expected to thrive in a foreign soil and under another 
sky. 

Thus she was now gazing, half sadly and half mourn- 
fully, across the garden, at the house under whose shelter- 
ing roof she had found so sweet a home, and a wave of 
indistinct longing swept over her thoughts. What was it 
she yearned for ? 

“ Oh, he is far too great and good for me !” she said to 
herself. “How can I dare think of him? — and yet, I 
might be his servant ! I could wait on him, clean his 
room, attend to his linen, provide his meals for him — oh ! 
how happy it would make me merely to be near him ! 
He is the only man on earth who is standing nearer to 
me — the only one of all I have seen whom I should like 
to obey. And am I really never to see him again ? 
Alas ! I am such a lowly, despised and useless being ! 
Nobody asks what I am doing, and all I really do any 
one else could do as well. There is no use in me— not 
for him, not for any one.” 

While the poor child was thus indulging in useless and 
unprofitable thoughts, and blamed herself for not being 
able to forget the man whom she ought to forget, she 
suddenly started and felt all the blood in her body rush 
to her heart, for she thought she saw the image of her 
fancy, the form of Edward Frank, appear for an instant 
amid the orchard trees near the parsonage. She pressed 
both her hands upon her heart as if to suppress its furious 
beating, and gazed, all eagerness, at the mysterious 
vision. She saw nothing ; the form had vanished. But, 


246 


THE BETROTHAL. 


see there ! Behind that clump of trees — there it was 
again — it was he — it was Edward Frank ! She knew it ! 
She knew too well that lofty figure, that proud walk, that 
commanding look of the eyes ! He seemed to be in 
search of some one as he was coming up through the 
garden, and turned his face now to one side and now to 
the other. Could they have told him at the house that 
she was out near the meadows ? She tried to call out to 
him that she was here, she tried to run to meet him, 
but her feet refused to serve her, as her voice had refused 
just now, and she stood rooted to the place, trembling, 
and fearing she knew not what. 

There ! Now he had caught sight of her ! He paused 
all of a sudden, and then he lifted his hat and waved it 
in the air, and now he came on with rapid strides. 

The poor girl closed her eyes ; she did not see him, 
but she felt him come nearer, and she knew not what 
it was that made her tremble with fear and yet rejoice ! 
It was the feeling of the violet in early spring, which 
dark shade and damp mists have kept from unfolding 
the fragrant beauty-bloom, and which now suddenly 
sees a bright day around it and feels the blessed heat of 
the sun. Instinctively she knew what he came for, for 
all at once there was revealed to her the mystery that had 
made her tremble with fear and exult in joy at the same 
moment, — and a hidden voice within her called out to 
her that he also had remained faithful to that sympathy 
which had sprung up in their hearts at the first meeting. 
Thus she stood there like a sacrificial lamb, patiently fix- 
ing her eyes upon him as he gradually came nearer and 
nearer, her hands humbly folded across her bosom, 
motionless and ready to receive either death or life at his 
hands. 

Now he is standing before her. She looked into his 
eyes, she saw before her that manly, beautiful face which 


THE BETROTHAL. 


247 


she had so often conjured up in her day-dreams and at 
night, and her whole heart melted away under his 
glance. 

She did not utter a sound — nor did he say a word. 
But how was it ? — she never knew. Of a sudden she 
felt herself held embraced in his strong arms, pressed 
close to his heart, and his burning lips upon her own — 
till Heaven itself was revealed to her in that embrace ! 
Both felt as if it never could have been otherwise — as if 
the future must needs be so for all time to come. Past, 
Present and Future, were all lost to them in that moment, 
and they were one from that day on forevermore. 
They had unconsciously, during the long days and weeks 
of their separation, passed through that whole protracted 
time, which generally, with lovers, lies between the first 
timid glance and the final open avowal of their love. 
They were at once, by one embrace, dear old friends, 
with no doubt, no uncertainty and no possible misunder- 
standing that could ever step between them and imperil 
their union. 

“ Do you love me, Alma ?” he asked at last. 

“ I love you !” she simply replied, but her smile was a 
smile of angelic sweetness and bliss. 

He put his strong arm around her waist, and thus led 
her, her head resting on his shoulder, slowly through the 
winding walks of the fragrant garden. 

“ Will you be mine ?” he asked again. 

“Yes, I will, with all my heart !” 

“And you will go with me wherever I go ?” 

“ I hope for nothing more blissful on earth !” 

“Well, then, come and let us talk sense !” 

But that was more easily proposed than done. He 
could not see these dark eyes so full of love, these carna- 
tion red lips, nor this beautiful soft hair, without press- 
ing his lips upon them, and it took a long time before he 


248 


THE BETKOTHAL. 


could tell her, in order, what he proposed doing. He 
also told her that there were people now who claimed 
having parental claims upon her, and that he intended to 
avail himself of their assistance in order to trace her de- 
scent as far as it would be found possible. She cast 
down her eyes and blushed as he spoke thus, and in 
silence listened to his account. The idea of meeting a 
mother moved her heart deeply — it seemed almost too 
much happiness for an earth-born creature like herself to 
recover a mother and to be blessed with a lover at the 
same time. She looked up to him with eyes streaming 
with tears, but they were tears of joy and happiness, such 
as she had never yet shed in her whole life. 

And yet there was here also, as in all events that befall 
us on earth, a drop of bitterness not wanting in the cup 
they were draining. As the happy lover gazed and 
gazed into the features of his beloved one, he could not 
help being struck by the growing resemblance between 
Lily and Alma Betty. It was perhaps not so much the 
precise cut of the features, still soft and undecided in the 
face of the young girl, but almost harsh and relentless in 
that of the older woman, but there was something in the 
look of the eye, in the sound of the voice, and above all 
in the motions of the body, that was common to both, and 
almost beyond doubt testified to the common blood. 

In the meantime the good people of the parsonage had 
begun to wonder what could have befallen their young 
guest. One of the boys, however, who had shown Ed- 
ward the way to the garden, soon after he had come 
from the station, now reported the arrival of a fine-look- 
ing young man, and the minister’s wife, very indignant 
at what appeared to her suspicious mind very much like 
a clandestine meeting, called out Alma’s name through 
the open window. She was not a little astonished when 
her call was almost immediately answered by the sudden 


THE BETROTHAL. 


249 


appearance of Alma hanging on the young man’s arm, 
and her amazement grew when the latter coolly informed 
her that he had obtained Alma’s hand and heart, and 
hoped ere long to carry her to his own home. A letter 
from Mr. and Mrs. Lehman accredited him with the 
worthy minister, and the good people, greatly rejoicing 
at the happy issue of Alma’s short-lived sufferings, and 
at the actual romance happening before their eyes, cor- 
dially wished the young people joy and great happiness 
in life. 

It was the finest evening .that Edward had yet spent 
on earth, and Alma felt as if she were in one of the outer 
courts of Heaven. The lovers sat side by side at the fru- 
gal table, and enjoyed the simple meal prepared by Al- 
ma’s skilful hands, with a feeling of silent but intense 
happiness, which only he can realize who has ever fore- 
seen in the charming betrothed the genuine helpmate of 
married life. After supper the whole family — including 
even the boys, who gazed with admiration at the stalwart 
man who was to carry off their Lady of Beauty like one 
of the knights of old — assembled in the school-room, 
where the children and all the servants had already 
gone. The daughter played on the modest little house- 
organ, accompanying with uncommon skill the fresh and 
full voices that were led by the minister himself, while 
Edward and Alma contributed strength and melody by 
their well-trained, excellent voices. It was an indescrib- 
able joy to Edward to be able to be present at such a 
meeting, where sincere devotion and solemn reverence 
united to make all feel as if for the time at least they 
were raised high above the daily, vulgar life of our earthly 
existence and felt nearer the God-head. That from time 
to time Alma would raise her cast-down eyelids, and 
glance from the folded hands in her lap to his face, ac- 
companying the stealthy look with a sweet smile, only 


250 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


made him feel happier and more grateful to God who 
had given him this pearl of great price ! 

At last the hour approached when the last train to 
Berlin passed the little station in the village. Edward 
left the house after a last kiss in the dark garden, and 
soon found himself in the haven which he desired. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 

When Edward reached the little town in which Alma 
had spent the first years of her earthly existence, he met 
at first with some difficulties. The woman whose address 
had been given him had left the place after the child’s 
disappearance, and it gave him some trouble to discover 
her present residence. At last he found that she had met 
with misfortunes and was now living in Leipzig, where 
she kept a second- or third-rate beer-saloon, having 
married a fellow-servant who joined his savings to hers 
and thus enabled them to buy a stand just become vacant 
by the death of the late owner. 

Doctor Comet’s death was known to her, and she did 
not hesitate, partly allured by the promise of a hand- 
some reward, partly alarmed by the threat of a charge 
of abduction, to reveal the secret entrusted to her discre- 
tion. She confessed that Doctor Comet had brought 
her the child when a mere baby ; that she had received 
a regular salary from him up to that day when the peo- 
ple, out of whose hands she had finally succeeded in 
escaping, had taken her from them, pretending that they 
came as Doctor Comet’s agents. She also handed Ed- 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


251 


ward a number of letters, which fully corroborated her 
statements. Thus provided with all that was needed to 
establish Alma’s identity, he returned to Berlin. It was 
with a heavy heart that he set out on his way to Lily’s 
house, for he could not conceal from himself how peril- 
ous for Alma the intimacy with such a mother must 
become. The atmosphere of richly-gilded and sweetly- 
perfumed corruption that pervaded the dwelling of the 
Blanks, appeared to him, now that he had learned to 
appreciate Alma’s purity and almost holiness, as danger- 
ous in the extreme, and pernicious. Then it occurred to 
him what kind of people were apt to appear at the enter- 
tainments given in that house, and what very objection- 
able men and women alike Alma would be inevitably 
compelled to meet there. He thought that Lily no 
doubt had for the present the very best intentions, as far 
as her child was concerned, that she might even have the 
will and the strength of mind entirely to break with the 
past and her former life. But he knew, also, that 
almost as a matter of course, the old habit would assert 
its gi*eat power, and Alma would, ere long, be surrounded 
and courted by men whose mere touch was poison. 
Lily might even, in the course of time, come to use the 
beauty of her daughter as a magnet to attract men with 
high titles and long rent-rolls, and thus to increase the 
attractions of her salon, and the profits she derived 
from the play that was going on there almost every 
night. 

Besides all this, he was feverishly anxious to have 
Alma near him and to make her his helpmate for life. 
His favorite project now was to found a new home for 
Alma and himself in Italy, under the patronage of 
Prince Pallavicini — and what was to become of this if 
the Baroness Blank claimed the rights of a mother? 

In this painful state of mind he did not feel inclined 


252 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


to stop in Berlin, and to see the lady at all, but thought 
he would go through and hasten on to Punkinton, there 
to settle the matter at once, and from Alma’s lips and 
eyes to receive new inspiration as to what was wisest to 
do in such a strange position. The good minister and 
his hospitable wife, although not a little surprised at see- 
ing him return so promptly, received him most kindly — 
Alma with radiant eyes and blushing cheeks. Imme- 
diately after the first exchange of the usual courtesies, he 
begged Alma, as they were walking from the station to 
the parsonage, to discuss with him very carefully the 
state of affairs, as far as their mutual position was affected 
by his experience with the baroness. Hand in hand 
they paused at last on the very spot where Alma had 
first seen Edward approach, and where she had recog- 
nized him after their separation. 

“ My darling,” he said to her, holding her hands and 
looking trustingly into her open, candid eyes, in which 
he read her very soul, “my darling, I cannot bear to 
think of you as an inmate of that house. I see you 
already in a charming modern costume, very ddcoiletee , 
your beautiful hair frizzed and dressed to rise mountain 
high, surrounded by gentlemen old and young, who tell 
you flattering compliments till you will demand them as 
naturally as your daily bread !” 

“That you will never see !” she said vehemently. 

“And how will you avoid it?” he asked. “ Habit is a 
powerful tyrant. If you are once inured to the ways of 
that house you will never be able to get away again. 
Oh ! if you could remain here, in this quiet but happy 
home of a minister of God, where peaceful piety reigns 
and God’s blessing so evidently rests on all ! Can you — 
will you stay here, my beloved, till the happy hour comes 
when I can return and take you from here straight to the 
attar — there to make you mine, mine own — never to leave 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


253 


you again — to be your support and protection, as you 
will be my pride and my happiness ? What do you say ?” 

She only looked at him so trustingly and sweetly that 
he felt all words would be superfluous, and the pressure 
of her hand was to him a sacred pledge. 

As they still were standing there, unwilling to leave a 
place that was fast becoming sacred to them, a small 
white cloudlet appeared at a distance, skirted the slope 
of a ridge of hills on the other side of the little creek 
that flowed through the meadows, and gradually ap- 
proached nearer and nearer. “ The train,” she said, 
noticing how his eye followed the wandering white 
cloud, “the same train by which you came four days ago. 
Every day since then I have been standing here at this 
hour, recalling one by one, with indescribable enjoyment, 
every feature of our meeting, to the last moment of 
greatest, of unspeakable happiness — when you held me 
here in your loving arms.” 

The train entered the station, and Edward and Alma 
were slowly sauntering through the garden toward the 
parsonage, stopping now and then at some of the flower- 
beds that were more specially Alma’s pets, when she 
suddenly stopped and pointing at the garden gate, said 
to him : 

“ See there ! We are going to have visitors !” 

Edward looked up and saw at the gate a lady in most 
fashionable costume, who no sooner saw him than she 
hurriedly approached. He could not suppress a slight 
cry of surprise, and when Alma looked at his face, she 
saw that he had turned very pale. “ What is it ?” she 
asked. 

“It is your mother !” said Edward, in a subdued tone 
of voice. 

“ Ah,” exclaimed Alma, rapidly advancing two steps, 
and then remaining as if petrified, as she saw this 


254 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


elegant lady of haughty presence, with her rapid gesture 
and her feverishly heated cheeks and eyes. At last, half 
joyous and half afraid, she advanced to welcome her. 

The baroness had spent the days following her meeting 
with Edward in daily increasing excitement. For hours 
and hours she would walk up and down in her rooms, 
now listening for footsteps, now running to the window 
to see if anybody was coming ; then again walking in 
unnatural unrest. Every now and then she stepped to 
the portrait, and with the aid of a large mirror, compared 
most minutely their features, now seeing a striking 
resemblance, and then again finding far too great a dif- 
ference to justify any kinship. She could not sleep at 
night, the thought of her lost daughter filling her mind 
with ever-changing scenes from the life of the forsaken 
child. She lost her appetite at morning, noon and even- 
ing, and the sight of her husband became so unbearable 
to her that she shut herself up in her own room and 
refused to see him or any one else, excepting only her 
own confidential maid. How vividly she recalled, in 
these painful, silent hours, the picture of her parental 
home, where she, the fairest of three fair sisters, practised 
unchecked the tyranny of her selfishness and her unbri- 
dled caprices, spoilt by a father whose frivolity and want 
of self-respect carried the family down with him into 
destruction and disgrace. She saw him distinctly stand- 
ing before her mind’s eye, with his sharp, aristocratic 
features, his sunken cheeks and watery, worn-out eyes, 
his eagle nose, and lofty brow covered with a thousand 
minute lines, she saw him rub his snowy- white, beautifully- 
shaped hands, so deft in shuffling or in drawing cards. 
He had always told her that his Lily was his last great 
trump in life, for whom on that account no expenditure 
had ever been spared. She had ever been permitted to 
do just as she liked, and no control had ever been 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


255 


attempted for fear of affecting her temper, and through 
her humor her complexion, and through that her beauty, 
— the one precious jewel this old, reduced family could 
still call their own. And then rose before her the great- 
est guilt of which she was conscious, in the shape of that 
unfortunate man who had taken his life on her account. 
That scene in the little glass house on top of the roof ! 
No, she could not bear it ! She hid her face in her hands 
and shuddered and shook, till at last she summoned cour- 
age, rang the bell for a servant and ordered some wine to 
be brought. She filled a large goblet and drank it at one 
draught, not knowing what she was drinking ; but she 
felt a new glow in her veins and new strength in her 
heart, so that she could once more defy the shades of the 
departed to come and trouble her mind’s peace. 

From all such visions, from all such horrors, she felt 
as if she could take refuge at the picture of her child, 
that appeared to her almost a sanctuary. She swore that 
no power on earth should ever lure her away from this 
chaste and pure young creature, and she vowed as sol- 
emnly that from the moment of her entrance into her 
house, no man or woman of ambiguous character should 
ever again be allowed to darken her doorway. 

Three long, endless days she lived in this state of pain- 
ful, harrassing excitement, but on the fourth she deter- 
mined that she would wait no longer, but go herself to 
that village of which the lover had spoken so eloquently, 
and where, she shrewdly suspected, a part of the secret, 
at least, might be concealed. Without saying a word to 
any one, she drove to the station, took a ticket to Punk- 
inton, and as we have seen, appeared there to the utter 
consternation of all parties. 

Here she now found herself facing the girl on whom 
depended her future and the hoped-for amends for a 
great sin. Edward’s presence and the whole manner of 


256 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


the two left her no longer any doubt as to the identity 
of her daughter. 

But this woman who had all her life long allowed the 
evil spirits within her to rule over the good spirits, and 
who had in a feverish thirst for excitement consumed 
the principal of her vital power, was now to be taught 
that nature is not disregarded with impunity, and that 
the laws of our being bear their fulfilment in themselves. 

After the first joyous sensation, as is so often the case 
with natures like hers, the reality disappointed her fanci- 
ful anticipations. Her overwrought nerves were not able 
to enjoy this happiness in its simple reality. She* had 
forgotten to be a mother ! She imagined that Alma's 
welcome was cold, that her face even bore signs of 
aversion. Thus she remained for some time standing 
with outspread arms before her daughter, as if maternal 
joy were a royal garment with which she dared not 
cover her poor thin shoulders. When at last she took a 
^step forward and embraced the child, who looked at her 
in consternation, her face was deadly pale, and big tears 
raced down her cheeks. 

Edward witnessed the scene with deep emotions, but 
he also had to defend himself against a painful sensa- 
tion. He felt as if a falcon was holding the dove in its 
fangs. Here in the open air and the bright sunlight he 
was forcibly struck by the aged and worn-out, ash- 
colored face of the mother. She bore the seal of Baby- 
lon. Here were the two fair beings facing each other, 
with an unmistakable resemblance between them — but 
what a difference ! Edward felt more forcibly than ever 
how little he would desire to see the two united. 

He left mother and daughter for awhile to themselves, 
and went into the house to tell the minister and his wife 
that the Baroness Blank had arrived. The old man, 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


257 


with unfailing courtesy, at once went to invite the new- 
comer to his house. 

It was a strange visitor, — such as the parsonage had 
probably but rarely received under its sheltering roof. 
The room in its puritanic simplicity, with its simple fur- 
niture and plain wood-cuts, made a strange contrast to 
the air of fashion and of luxury that swept in with the 
guest. The poor, simple wife of the minister stood almost 
aghast when she beheld these sparkling eyes, this rich 
and artistic coloring of the complexion, this eccentric, 
unnatural hair-structure, and the unwonted magnificence 
of silk and satin which exhaled a subtle perfume. The 
baroness held Alma by the hand as she entered the room, 
and first turned to Edward, thanking him for the great 
joy she owed him. Then she spoke to her host, and 
thanked him and his good wife for whatever love and 
affection they had shown her beloved, child, and wound 
up by requesting that Alma’s trunk might at once be 
gotten ready and sent to the station, as her daughter 
would, of course, accompany her on her return to Berlin. 

Edward turned at once to his betrothed, asking how 
that was? 

She blushed lightly, but said without hesitation, and 
turning her frank, open face to the baroness : 

“ Pardon me, dear mamma, but please do not ask that 
of me ! I wish for the present to remain here.” 

The mother trembled. 

“ So soon ? % So soon ?” she said, rather speaking to 
herself than to the bystanders. “ What do you mean by 
saying ‘ for the present ?’ ” 

Alma walked up to Edward, and seizing his hands, she 
said bravely : 

“ My heart is his who has rescued me, and he is shortly 
to make me his wife, and then to take me with him to 
Italy.” 


258 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


The unfortunate mother put her hand to her heart as 
if she felt there a keen, sharp pain, and pressed her lips 
together. But shaking her head as if that was all that 
was needed, she said calmly : 

“ My child, you will please from this day follow your 
mother’s advice and no other.” 

“ My very honored lady,” said Edward, “ permit me to 
confirm the words of my betrothed. We have agreed, 
Alma and I, to become one. We have confessed our 
love to each other, and sworn to act in concert. It is 
my wish that my betrothed remain a few weeks longer 
in this house, until we can marry, and then we shall, if 
God permits, go together to Italy, where I have influen- 
tial friends and the offer of erecting a large building.” 

The lady breathed heavily. 

“And you, my child, what say you?” she asked, in a 
hoarse voice. 

“ My will is the will of my betrothed, and I obey him 
absolutely,” replied Alma, in a firm tone. 

“It is not possible,” whispered the poor mother to her- 
self, passing her tightly gloved hands again and again 
over her brow ; “ it is surely not possible !” She felt at 
this moment as if she saw the man whom she had 
driven to death standing once more before her and con- 
juring her to love him. She remembered her triumph 
when she had shown him how much she was the stronger 
of the two, and now she saw the vengeance approach 
from which she could not escape ! She tried to brace 
herself and to triumph in this crisis also, but her strength 
was broken, she could not summon her spirits, and with 
an imploring gesture she turned to Alma, saying : “ It 
would be so sweet and dear in you, my child, if you 
would obey me. How long have I longed and yearned 
to have a child that should turn her pure, innocent face 
towards mine, and obey me in filial love ! Will you 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


259 


punish me for having lost all these years of maternal joy 
and happiness ? Am I less your mother because misfor- 
tune deprived me so long of all a mother’s privileges ? 
Am I only to suffer and to enjoy nothing? Oh, come to 
my bosom, my dearest, darling child, and follow me !” 

Alma stood in deep, painful hesitation, looking now at 
her unfortunate mother and now at Edward, feeling 
profound sympathy with the one, and remembering the 
obedience she had sworn to the other. 

Edward once more came to her assistance. 

“ Baroness,” he said, “it can surely be of no use for so 
short a time to change the whole manner of life of your 
daughter. I count positively upon marrying in a few 
weeks, and till then — ” 

“Till then,” she interrupted him, angrily, “you had 
better not intrude between mother and daughter. Do 
not inflict upon me now an injury which might make me 
forget the service you have rendered me. Yes — you need 
not look at me so reproachfully. I know you have given 
me back my daughter, but it would be better for me 
never to have found her at all than to lose her now and 
forever !” 

“ Yes, you are right,” replied Edward, losing his tem- 
per likewise. “I know what you would do. You will 
never permit Alma to become my wife, and that is the 
reason why you wish to take her away from here and to 
your own dwelling.” 

The mother burst forth into a loud laugh that sounded 
very uncanny, and then broke out into a new stream of 
invectives, which she ended with the words : “You want 
to marry my child ! As if I did not know — know but too 
well — what you men mean by that word ‘marry.’ To 
promise her eternal fidelity and love, to vow with solemn 
oaths before God Almighty to make her happy — and 
then, under the hypocritical cloak of church-ceremonies 


260 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


to make her your slave, whom you may ill-treat as it 
pleases you, deceive, and finally leave altogether !” 

“ No, mamma, no !” cried Alma with flaming eyes, “ that 
is a crying wrong ! No one would speak thus of my be- 
trothed who knows him. He has the purest, noblest 
heart, and even my mother must not try to render his 
love suspicious, and — ” 

The poor mother laughed once more so loud that it 
resounded all over the house, but in her distorted face 
wrath was supreme : 

“ Aha !” she sneered, “ that then is your real face which 
I now see ! Before it was only a mask, assumed to pre- 
serve peace among us ! You fool ! Do you know the 
world as I know it? You pick up the first man that hap- 
pens to come across your path in life, and to him you 
give yourself, body and soul ! Do you know what mar- 
riage really is ? A wretched contrivance devised by the 
Evil One to martyrize sensitive souls and to fill hell with 
maddened criminals. Do you ?” 

<c Stop !” cried the venerable minister, “ stop, madame, 
and consider what you are saying, and in whose pres- 
ence ! You are over-excited, and it seems to me as if 
your feverish condition carries you away to say words 
which you do not really mean, and which you will bit- 
terly repent hereafter. Permit me to suggest that we 
withdraw to my study, where we can, undisturbed and in 
a Christian mood, discuss this grave question.’' 

Suddenly wringing her hands and uttering two or 
three piercing cries, to the horror of all the bystanders, 
she threw herself at the feet of her child, embraced her 
knees, and cried, “ My child ! my only child ! If you will 
save my life, my mind here below, my peace in the great 
Hereafter, come to me and trust me ! Never was child 
loved by its mother as I love you. You shall be my only 
happiness in life, my only hope for the future. How 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


261 


can you forsake me ? You are my flesh and blood, you 
are my child, the one sheet-anchor that binds me yet to 
earth. Will you kill me in cold blood ?” 

Alma bowed low before her mother, but felt utterly 
helpless, and the appalling silence that immediately suc- 
ceeded this terrific outburst, of passion, was felt by all 
as if it would crush them. Alma at last made ah effort 
to stammer a few words ; she tried to say : “ Pardon me, 
my dear mother, pardon me — but I cannot divide my 
heart, and I must follow the man whom I love !” 

With these words she turned aside, threw herself into 
Edward’s arms, and sobbed there convulsively. 

The baroness uttered a heart-rending cry that pierced 
everybody’s innermost soul. They saw with grief and 
pain how this poor woman suffered, having no idea of 
God’s greatness and goodness, who had put all her hopes 
of happiness on the head of this child of hers, and must 
now see how her own offspring turned from her, if not 
with loathing, certainly without that affection which 
Nature implants in every heart. The poor girl, cling- 
ing closely to her betrothed, felt clearly that it needed 
her whole great love for him to keep her from yielding 
to that sympathy which prompted her to throw herself 
into her mother’s arms and to promise her to be hers for- 
evermore ! But her love was too great and her nature 
too simple not to enable her to come forth triumphantly 
from this terrible trial. 

The worthy minister and his wife tried their best to 
calm the excited, unfortunate mother, and used every 
argument that their religion and their reason suggested 
to them, to persuade her to wait and to leave to time the 
gradual bridging over of the abyss which for the moment 
separated the child from the mother. But all was in 
vain ; a dark spirit seemed to possess the unfortunate 
woman, and rigid and apparently unfeeling, she listened 


262 


FAITHFUL AND OBEDIENT. 


to all that was said. At a sign of the minister Edward 
and Alma left the room, and almost instantly the spell 
seemed to be broken. The poor woman sank fainting 
into the arms of the old gentleman and his wife. 


In, the little church of Punkinton great preparations 
had been made and the golden autumnal sun, sending 
its rays through the rich, stained windows, produced 
strange combinations with the wreaths and garlands that 
hung around, and the rich carpets that lay on the cold 
stone floor. 

Under the sheltering shade of the avenue of old linden 
trees, which led from the parsonage to the church-door, 
a small festive procession was slowly making its way, 
the ground being strewn with the gorgeous colors .of mill- 
ions of autumn leaves, interspersed with modest flowers, 
the tribute of the children of the parish. 

The bride, in her long white veil falling from under 
the myrtle-wreath on her head to the train of her bridal 
dress, looked thoughtful but happy. With proud steps 
Edward followed her closely. 

The sound of the bell with its merry carols following 
the solemn charge, died away ; organ music and sacred 
chants tilled the church, and finally the binding words 
of the priest, and the blessing of the Almighty, ended and 
confirmed the loving union of two happy hearts. 

Then, almost immediately after the ceremony, a train 
carried the happy young couple towards the south, to 
that far-famed spot of transcendent beauty on the blue 
Tyrrhenian sea. 

T rue, there lay a light shadow on Alma’s happy features, 
whenever she thought of the unfortunate motherland 
recalled that fatal evening on which the sad sufferer had 
been compelled to leave the parsonage and to return to 
Berlin without the long lost daughter. But the farther 


MONACO. 


263 


the train carried them away from their childhood’s home, 
the paler grew the Past and the brighter and fairer 
appeared the Present. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

MONACO. 

Alfonse had provided himself in Paris with a large 
sum of ready money and a considerable amount in letters 
of credit ; he had fitted himself out with all the comforts 
of a modern traveler, and, besides, busied himself with 
learning all he could hear of the life led by the Prince de 
Lignac and his new Princess. Two such brilliant per- 
sonages, with the additional prestige of a historical name 
on his side, and, if report was true, of many millions on 
her part, could not well appear, even in Parisian society, 
without attracting attention. Hence he easily heard what 
he wished to ascertain, together with the fact that they 
had only a few days before gone down to Monaco, where 
they were to spend the winter months. 

Alfonse at once concluded to follow them, bent as he 
was upon keeping close to his faithless lady-love and 
cousin. He had at first intended to remain some time in 
Paris, and to enjoy the attractions of the Metropolis till 
they should pall upon his palate. But while there a kind 
of disgust suddenly seized him ; he no longer enjoyed the 
famous restaurants, his mistresses behind the scenes 
wearied him. An inner unrest marred every pleasure, 
and the very gold for which he had so grievously sinned, 
.no longer was able to furnish enjoyment. The memory 
of his parents, and the last events in Berlin, tormented him 


264 : 


MONACO. 


and robbed the delights of Paris of all attractive power. 
The incessant movement on the boulevard, the long 
palace-lined streets, the merry crowds, and even the 
incessant traffic in the humbler parts of the gigantic 
city — all this appeared to him tedious and unrefreshing. 
He constantly felt in his pockets to make sure that his 
precious bonds and parchments were still there, and 
frequently looked around, fancying that he was followed 
and watched. Even the hope of finding Chessa once 
more, assumed now, when he was so near the realization 
of his day-dreams, a paler hue. 

In this unsatisfied state of mind he kept in motion all 
day long, visiting churches and chapels, museums and 
galleries, drove out to see the surrounding country — in 
fact he worked as hard at seeing Paris as if Badeker was 
employing him to prepare a new edition of his hand-book 
of Paris. Nothing gave him the slightest satisfaction — 
nothing except one thing ; he appreciated Vefour’s cook 
and the widow Cliquot’s last composition. One night, 
however, he had a most fearful dream in which Chessa ap- 
peared to him, and, to his amazement, in hearty friendship 
with the Turkish Interpreter, attempted his life with the 
very dagger he had once seen in her hands. When he 
awoke, it was with a piercing cry of anguish. 

He made a light. The cold perspiration was dropping 
from his clammy forehead. It was two o’clock in the 
morning. He could not get calm for some time, his 
whole nervous system having evidently received a shock 
from which he seemed to be unable to recover. 

It was in fact not till later in the evening, when he 
found himself comfortably engaged in a new novel which 
he was reading by the electric light in the coupe, with a 
hundred thousand francs in gold and bank notes in his 
pocket, and the prospect of seeing, the next day, the 


MONACO. 


265 


nearest approach to an earthly paradise. It was then only 
that he felt himself again. 

There were two other travelers in the same coupe with 
him, whose conversation after awhile attracted his atten- 
tion, simply because they discussed the place to which 
he was going. One of them, a short, stout man, with 
gray hair, bright eyes, and carefully-kept beard, looked 
like an old soldier. The other was evidently an eminent 
divine, whose fine features, and clear, commanding eyes 
were very attractive. He had, it appeared, some duties 
to perform in Monaco, while the military man was on his 
way to Marseilles. 

“ The prince will find himself, after all, compelled to 
give his consent,” said the black-eyed Frenchman. “ The 
Holy Father himself has dissolved the tie.” 

The priest — he might have been a cardinal, so imper- 
ious was his carriage — first looking at Alfonse, who was 
lying in his corner apparently utterly indifferent to what 
they were saying, said : 

“ I beg your Excellency’s pardon, but the Holy Father 
cannot grant a divorce, since our Church knows no such 
measure. The College of Cardinals, it is true, have de- 
clared this marriage to be non-existent according to 
Canon Law, as there was practically no marriage between 
the hereditary prince and Lady Hamilton. The Holy 
Father has, after careful inquiry, given his approval to 
this decision ; that is all.” 

“ How could a marriage be declared non-existent when 
there was an offspring of such marriage alive ?” 

“ The idea of marriage pre-supposes the free consent of 
both parties ; in this case it was conclusively established 
that the lady had been married against her will.” 

“In France that could not have been possible. The 
Code Civil is very clear on that question, and in recent 
suits the principle has been reasserted.” 


266 


MONACO. 


The priest shrugged his shoulders. “ The Church is 
and always will be above the Code Civil” he said, “and 
reserves the right of annulling or supporting a marriage, 
as its interest may demand. Divorce, however, as the 
world calls it, the Church will never admit, because it is 
contrary to the law of God.” 

“ They raise a loud outcry now against the bank at 
Monaco, and I think justly. What does your Eminence 
think of it ?” 

“I think it is pure hypocrisy,” said the priest, with 
that fine, ironical smile that seems to be given to the 
higher members of the Roman Hierarchy as a special 
weapon. “ It is the same hypocrisy which robbed Baden- 
Baden of its privileges.” 

“ What do you say ?” 

“Do not misunderstand me,” resumed the priest. 
“ What I think of the immorality of gambling, I trust I 
need not tell you. But as long as there is in every large 
city of Europe an Exchange at which men can, by 
exactly the same process, in a few days or even hours, 
win and lose as much as they choose to risk, so long can 
we not blame Monaco any more than Paris or Ber- 
lin.” 

“Your Eminence might go further than that, and 
acknowledge that this outcry would not be listened to 
by a human soul, if the Prince of Monaco would only 
have the kindness to let a small fraction of the revenues 
of the bank fall into the pockets of certain men in Paris, 
instead of offering the Sacred Congregations an asylum 
in his little principality. Nobody ever speaks of the 
Cerdes in Nice, where the Prefect, the General in com- 
mand, and the Admiral from Villefranche sit at the green 
table and play to their hearts’ content.” 

Thereupon the two gentlemen entered into a lively 
discussion of the relative merits and demerits of certain 


MONACO. 


267 


modes of gambling, which had the happy effect upon 
Alfonse that he fell fast asleep and did not awake till 
the train ran into the beautiful station at Monaco. Here 
he secured rooms at the Hotel de Paris almost adjoining 
the Casino of Monte Carlo. 

His room had a view over the magnificent gardens of 
the Casino and down the sudden precipice of the rocks 
to the deep blue Mediterranean. He inquired at once 
after Prince Lignac, and was told that he had a villa on 
the other side of the Avenue du Casino. Then he dressed, 
and, military fashion, went out to acquaint himself with 
the locality. The verandahs and the avenues in the 
splendid garden of the hotel were crowded, this fine, star- 
lit evening, with a great host of well-dressed, well-behaved 
people. After awhile the moon rose, and Alfonse, who 
just then had reached the large, open square in front, 
thought he had never in his life seen such lights and 
such an enchanting scene. The faqade of the Casino 
seemed to reflect the silvery light of the moon, which 
fell full upon the white marble with its rich gold orna- 
mentation, and the snowy gravel under foot, while the 
fragrance of innumerable orange trees mingled here with 
the faint smell of the salt air. This marvelous light lent 
to the palm trees, figs and olive trees, and other tropical 
plants and shrubs, fairy-like charms, perfectly new and 
almost bewitching to the less favored son of Northern 
Germany. All the languages of Europe seemed to be 
spoken in those little groups which were scattered 
over the grounds or merrily wandered from one attract- 
ive point to another. Little clouds of Turkish tobacco 
rose here and there like incense-offering from various 
groups, and over the whole night spread gradually a 
thin, transparent veil, which gave the enchanting scene, 
as it were, its finishing touch, and made it resemble more 


268 


MONACO. 


the creation of an overwrought imagination than a 
reality. 

Alfonse sauntered slowly across the great square, 
crossed the broad street which lead straight to the cen- 
tral door of the Casino, and plunged into the bosquets of 
the other side, between which he soon saw brilliant lights 
shine out from the vestibule and the long windows of a 
villa, which he guessed to be occupied by Prince Lignac. 
There was, on the right, the little gorge, down which a 
clear, milrmuring creek fell in skilfully devised cascades, 
which shone silvery white and bright in the brilliant 
moonlight ; there was on the other side the glass-covered 
porte cochere , where at that moment a carriage was stand- 
ing that brought guests ; and there was on the Eastern 
face the beautiful loggia , brightly illumined with count- 
less glass balls and electric lights, in which a large 
crowd was assembled. 

Alfonse approached till he could lean on an immense 
century plant, which guarded, as it looked, the entrance 
from the park into the private garden. From here he 
commanded a near view of this whole side of the villa, 
in which all the rooms were brilliantly lighted, for the 
prince seemed to entertain this evening. Absorbed in 
dark dreams, full of bitter feelings and savage hatred, 
Alfonse was watching the brilliant scene. Then of a 
sudden a bell-like voice arose, accompanied by a piano, 
and he could, holding his breath, follow every note of the 
Casta Diva , the air which was Chessa’s favorite song 
ever since he had praised the exquisite delicacy of her 
method. 

He was so entirely absorbed in listening to the song, 
and in watching the brilliant scene before him, that he 
did not notice a slight, slender figure, which suddenly 
turned up near him from the dark shrubbery, and ob- 
served him with eyes glowing with passion. Then the 


MONACO. 


269 


ghost-like appearance cast one more eager look at the 
villa and disappeared again, soundless as he had come. 
Alfonse returned to his hotel, sad and dreary, and tried 
to learn all he could hear of the prince and his special 
friends and acquaintances. 

The next afternoon he made his way to the pigeon- 
shooting, of which the prince was said to be a passionate 
patron and daily visitor. Paying but little attention to 
the skilfully contrived terraces on which, at an outlay 
of many millions, the famous gardens of Monte Carlo 
had been established, he walked rapidly through this 
earthly paradise, and then descended the stairs which 
conduct the visitor — for a consideration — to the narrow 
edge of land along the shore. Here the subdued sounds 
of firing guided his footsteps, until he came to a com- 
pany of about thirty gentlemen, all armed with regula- 
tion-rifles. At the first glance it could be seen that these 
men were not what was called the creme de la creme. 
In the centre stood Prince Lignac, in his exquisitely sim- 
ple and unpretending costume, with his haughty, high- 
bred carriage, his fine ironical smile ever playing around 
his finely-cut lips, in strange contrast with his melan- 
choly blue eyes. 

Alfonse went straight up to him, and spoke to him, 
with open, unreserved pleasure, and expressed his sur- 
prise at finding him here. A look of displeasure and dis- 
trust appeared for a moment in the prince’s eyes, but he 
was so perfectly master of himself that it vanished in- 
stantly, and Alfonse thought he must have been mis- 
taken. 

The prince at once introduced him to the leading 
sportsmen, like himself great patrons of any pleasant way 
that would enable them to lose or to win money, to kill 
time, and quite ready to welcome any man who shared 
their views of life and their amusements. 


270 


MONACO. 


“I wonder,” said Prince Lignac, “that the good people 
of Monaco have not objected yet to our special pastime. 
We kill here every day some three or four hundred 
pigeons, and right in face of us there stands that little 
toy of a church, the church of St. Devote, in whose honor 
they celebrate every year the greatest festival of their 
church. You know, no doubt, the legend, how one day 
a white dove appeared in sight of a ship that was on the 
point of being wrecked and dashed to pieces. * Behold 
the soul of St. Devote,’ cried the pilot, ‘let us follow the 
bird !’ They did so and were saved, and where this 
happened there the faithful believers afterwards built 
that pretty church. Who now can warrant the good 
people of Monaco that the worthy soul of the strange 
Saint does not one of these days by chance take the form 
of one of our birds, and what will then be the feelings of 
the unlucky man who has shot St. Devote ?” 

They laughed, and one of the young men told the 
prince not to neglect his chance, as it was his turn next. 
He stepped to the appointed place, and took aim. Chance 
would have it that a snow-white pigeon flew out of the 
opened cage^ at that moment, and rose joyously into the 
blue ether. The prince, too proud, like common shooters, 
to catch the bird unawares, as it were, at the moment 
when it spreads its wings for the first time after leaving 
the cage, let the bird rise some hundred feet or more, and 
then fired. But — what could have happened to the 
expert sportsman, who boasted that he never missed a 
bird ? He fired, but the bird rose higher and higher ; the 
prince at once fired the other barrel, and this time with 
better success. The poor bird fell, one wing was evi- 
dently injured ; a few seconds it struggled to gain com- 
mand of its wings and the next moment it dropped into 
the sea. The young men immediately examined accurately 
where it had fallen ; it lay outside the railing which here 


MONACO. 


271 


marks the rayon , and hence was not credited to the 
prince’s account — it was mauvais , because only the birds 
that fall upon the rocky slope within the rayon are called 
good. 

The prince was annoyed by the failure. 

“The Saint Devote has avenged herself,” sneered a 
tall Englishman, who was his most dangerous rival for 
the great prize. 

“ No, I think Lignac wants to found a new Society for 
the Protection of Animals,” laughed one of the young 
dukes, societe colombophile . 

“Well,” said the prince, “you may call that a joke, but 
ever since I read my friend Beauvoir’s exquisite verses, 
stating that Venus needed only two doves to draw her 
cars, I have had my scruples about our killing every 
year ten thousand of them or more. Unless,” he added, 
speaking seriously, “some one of you should invent a 
Marsala sauce in which they might be cooked as a well- 
peppered ragout.” 

A magnificent dinner, for which two cordons bleus from 
Paris had vied with each other to produce, by joint 
efforts, the most exquisite dishes, united thp same com- 
pany once* more at eight in the evening. Alfonse was an 
invited guest at this Lucullian meal, and was delighted 
to find himself surrounded by men whose banner bore 
but the one motto — pleasure ! This atmosphere served 
to drown his scruples and conscientious remembrances, 
which would turn up and mingle with the joyous shouts 
and peals of laughter that never ceased. He derived a 
strange comfort from the conviction that he was among 
men not one of whom was probably better than himself, 
and who yet belonged to the highest classes of society. 

After dinner, which was not prolonged beyond the 
usual hour, all adjourned to the Casino, where they 
rejoined the ladies. Alfonse was in great excitement ; he 


272 


MONACO. 


hoped every moment to meet Chessa ; but she was not 
there, and Prince Lignac offered his arm to a tall, red- 
haired English woman, with a high instep, enormous 
teeth, and a most enterprising air. With her he lost 
himself in the darker parts of the gardens, while most of 
his friends tried their luck at one or the other of the 
crowded tables. Alfonse walked from room to room, 
enjoying the low humming and murmuring, chiming in 
as it did with the ring of gold and silver and the rustling 
of silks, while from the gardens strange, sweet perfumes 
entered in at the tall, open windows. But where was 
she ? She loved gold, as he knew but too well, but she 
did not play to-night. 

“You do not play?” he was asked by an American, 
whose acquaintance he had made at dinner, and who was 
now carrying two ladies to the table where they wished 
to lose — or to win ? — a few gold pieces. 

“ I never play against the bank,” replied Alfonse, “un- 
less the banquier should be willing to sacrifice the teros 
and the doubles, and in faro the two last cards.” 

“ Ah, but then you would have the advantage which 
the bank now has !” laughed the American. 

“The banquier would still have the advantage,” replied 
Alfonse. 

“ How will you prove that ?” 

“Ah! never mind now. I have studied the subject, 
and it is as I tell you.” 

He went to a window in search of fresh, cool air, and 
looked down upon the Mediterranean that was lying 
there at his feet like a black, polished marble floor. 
Alfonse could not endure the quiet and the calm that 
reigned down there — it was too painful a contrast with 
the incessant noise that prevailed up here and all around 
him. He must do something to overcome his growing 
nervousness. He put his hand into his pocket and drew 


MONACO. 


273 


out ten gold Napoleons, with which he went to the near- 
est roulette table, and in defiance of his prudence, pro- 
posed to stake that amount. Just then he saw the prince 
enter, still with the English woman on his arm, and sit 
down with the air of a man who is perfectly at home. 
Next he put a pile of blue notes and of larger and smaller 
gold pieces before him on the table, and this gave Alfonse 
a peculiar idea. He put his money back into his porte- 
monnaie, got up and quickly left the Casino. 

He walked briskly in the direction of the villa, and 
when he drew nearer, observed a brilliant light which 
shot through the dark foliage of the park. He began to 
hope. Soon he reached the railing, near which he had 
stood the other night listening to her enchanting voice. 
To-night all was still, but the loggia was illuminated. 
Two globes of light pink glass, supported by gilt arms, 
diffused a mild, most becoming light, and in one corner 
he soon discerned the blue-black hair of the beloved. 

She was alone. He meditated a moment, hastened 
up the steps that led to the loggia, and the next moment 
he stood before her. 

She uttered a low cry and started up 

“ It is I, Chessa !” he said. 

“ What do you want ?” she asked. 

He noticed with astonishment, but great satisfaction, 
the great change she had undergone. In the few months 
that had passed since these two had last met, a great and 
a very mournful change must have taken place in her 
soul. The expression of her features bore witness to an 
entire transformation. 

“ My dear friend,” he said very gently, “are you really 
frightened by my appearance here? Do I not deserve 
to be welcomed as an old, trusted friend, when I present 
myself once more after so long and so painful a separa- 
tion ?” 


274 


MONACO. 


“ That is true,” she said, reclining again on her seat. 
“You have always been honest and kind to me. Be wel- 
come, then ! But why at night ? Why so stealthily?” 

There was unrest in her voice, which, with her hot red 
eyes, spoke of great feverish excitement within. He 
waited a minute, thinking what he should say. Now that 
he saw that she was not happy, the vague and undefined 
plan for the future which he had formed, assumed of a 
sudden, firm and clear outlines. “ Can you not guess ?” 
he said at last. “ Did I not foresee that you were has- 
tening to your ruin ? I followed you to be near you, to 
watch over you, to be at hand should you ever need me !” 

“ That is too late now ! After having said ‘ yes ’ at the 
altar, I was lost forever.” 

Alfonse read in her face, in her words, in the sound of 
her voice, the whole story of her life since she had left 
him. She stood once more before him, she, the hardened 
child of the world, the adventurous southerner, with her 
burning hot eyes, and her cold, reasoning mind, she 
whose magnificent voice he had tried so hard to endow 
with a feeling soul. 

And yet he who saw so clearly what was hid in her 
heart, gave himself up to the delusion that he had a 
place in her heart, that she actually cherished warm feel- 
ings for him, and that the hope of possessing her one of 
these days as his own, his very own, was by no means so 
very uncertain. 

Upon the strength of this visionary conviction, he 
employed all the powers of persuasion he had ever pos- 
sessed, to convince the adventuress that she had been 
victimized by the prince, who had determined to 
enrich himself at the cost of her life’s happiness. He 
showed her how cunningly she had been kept in total 
ignorance of the interest which the old baron and banker 
had always taken in her — an interest which went so far 


MONACO. 


275 


that after the death of his son, Baron Liondell had made 
her the heiress of his whole fortune. The prince, he 
said, had known this and married her solely for the sake 
of these millions, of which she had been kept ignorant 
till after the wedding. 

“ For he knew very well,” Alfonse concluded, in bitter- 
ness of heart, “ that you, my poor friend, had the choice 
among a dozen or two, as soon as it became known 
whose heiress you had in the meanwhile become. Then 
you would hardly have contented yourself with a burnt- 
out crater, called Prince Lignac, with a self-sufficient 
egotist such as the world does not easily admit a second 
time.” 

Chessa was not delicate enough to take these words 
amiss, and Alfonse had hit her sore point in thus speak- 
ing of the heritage. Never before had she seen so 
clearly how she had been deceived, how cunning had 
been the policy of her enemies in telling her of the mill- 
ions she would inherit, only after she had bound herself 
to hand them over to this faded, half-exhausted noble- 
man. In the meantime it had grown late, and the 
prince’s return might be momentarily expected. 

Alfonse prepared to leave her in the same way in 
which he had come, when the artist, forgetting all around 
her, and staring out into the dark night, said suddenly : 

“ I felt to-day, before you came, as if ghosts were 
haunting me. I fancied I saw the ghastly face of that 
wild Eastern man who attacked me in Berlin, stare at 
me through the window of the music-room. Since then 
I have been trembling.” 

“ Pshaw !” said Alfonse, frightened for a moment ; but 
sustained by the glowing passion within, he promptly 
shook off the touch of fear, and said contemptuously : 

“ Fancy, pure fancy. Am I not here — at your side ?” 


* 276 


THE ELOPEMENT. 


“ Fate is stronger than man,” she said. “ Good- 
night.” 

“ Fate is stronger than man,” Alfonse repeated to 
himself, as he walked back to his hotel through the balmy, 
richly-perfumed night air, “and your fate, my dear 
Cuban cousin, is now in the hands of a man of 
cunning. By Jupiter, I have a deft hand ! The money 
of this treacherous old uncle shall bear better inter- 
est in my hand, and quicker than in his own. The 
small sum I made him pay me the other night shall be 
the bait by means of which 1 shall catch the whole — and 
the fair artist into the bargain ! And the prince ! Well- 
aday, if he steps between the millions and myself, woe 
to him ! His life shall pay for the attempt ! This is a 
place where people play high, and my motto is just now, 
Va banque /” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE ELOPEMENT. 

Alfonse’s projects, still in dark and dim outline only, 
found unexpected support in the conduct of the prince 
himself. After the first uncomfortable feeling caused 
by Alfonse’s unexpected sudden appearance in Monaco 
had passed away, he seemed rather to be flattered by his 
devoted attentions to his wife. He even invited him to 
come often, to chat about old times, and to make music. 
One day he said in his usual weary way,“ I have made 
the acquaintance of a pretty English girl who has a fancy 
for Natural History and spends hours daily in catching 
all kind of sea-vermin that bear a light at night. Now 
it will be a great comfort to me, if I am sometimes kept 


THE ELOPEMENT. 


277 


out at sea till late at night, to know that my wife is not 
alone, but can cultivate her music. You used to help 
her, I think, did you not? And besides, you are a 
cousin, I think !” 

This was more than was needed to establish relations 
between Chessa and Alfonse which furnished welcome 
food for society-gossip, without injuring either party. 
In the whirlpool of amusement which here, at Monaco, 
literally swallowed up the richest and greatest of the 
earth, Chessa and Alfonse met with the same regularity 
as the prince and his red-haired, insular beauty. The 
intoxicating atmosphere of this spot on earth which prob- 
ably surpasses all other places of amusement in the Old 
World, made the merry guests forgot the abyss around 
which they were daily dancing, with pale Death sitting 
by and marking his victims. Chessa had led a lonely 
life till Alfonse came. Her hopes and anticipations in 
marrying a prince were so bitterly disappointed that she 
felt crushed by the sternness of the reality, and she with- 
drew from society as much as the prince would let her. 
Another reason of her retirement was that she actually 
suspected the prince of being ashamed of her in the pres- 
ence of his equals. Their stay in France had been very 
short, their visits to relations and friends very few, and 
she thought she discovered that the prince preferred a 
neutral ground to her company. Now, however, the 
presence of an old friend, who had been and still pre- 
tended to be, a lover, awakened in her new and far more 
pleasant feelings. The result was terrible ; the more she 
compared the two men, the more unlike she found the 
prince and the young man, the bitterer grew her hatred 
against the former. She saw in him, more and more, the 
clever man, who, by his wicked intrigues, -had, in a 
league with her old and feeble uncle, deprived her of a 
colossal fortune and made it his own, while he had made 


278 


THE ELOPEMENT. 


her nominally his wife, but in reality his slave. Decid- 
edly, the prince’s shares went down and Alfonse’s rose 
at a tremendous rate. 

But Alfonse had wider-reaching plans. It flattered 
his vanity and pleased his ambition to be daily seen in 
company with one of the fairest women of Europe— to 
mingle with the crfane la da creme on a footing of at least 
tolerated equality, and to have his share of this gorgeous 
play-ground for the great of the earth — but he wanted 
still more. He had enjoyed the marvelous triumph, 
after being deprived of his love by the prince, to rob in 
return, the prince of the love of his wife, and now, to 
crown his wishes, he aimed at nothing less than at robbing 
him of the wife herself ! 

After he had been at Monaco some three or four 
weeks, he had one day a conversation with the prince, 
which, unknown to the two men, was to lead to a crisis 
in their lives. 

“Yes, quite a nice little place,” said the prince, in his 
usual quiet but sneering way, as he paused for a moment 
under a palm tree near the railing of the outer prome- 
nade, “and a charming outlook here over the blue sea. 
But I begin to think it is time to go.” 

“ What ?” said Alfonse, quite taken aback, for he had 
been fully persuaded that the prince meant to spend the 
winter here, and till now had never heard any other plan 
even alluded to. 

“You are a lucky man,” continued the prince. “You 
can go and stay as you like. You have left the army, 
you live on your income, you have more money than you 
need — a thing that few people can say of themselves — 
you are really to be envied.” 

“ I should have thought, my prince, that you enjoy all 
these advantage in a far higher degree than I !” 


THE ELOPEMENT. 


279 


“ Do you think so ? You are really very kind. But 
you ought to know I am a married man !” 

■ “ I have the honor to know that !” replied Alfonse 
smiling. 

u He who says ‘ married,’ says much. You can at any 
time, in winter or in summer, by day or by night, in the 
morning or the evening, send for your camels, order them 
to be loaded, and move on in this desert of our earthly 
existence as the whim may seize you. But a married 
man has a second I, whose wishes are laws to him, 
and who commands. My wife wants to see Paris !” 

“ Ah ! I had not heard oi that !” 

“You are right to be astonished, my friend. I was 
astonished when the news reached me. But you will 
notice that the better you learn to know a. woman, the^ 
more enigmatical she becomes to you. Here you have 
no doubt imagined that you knew every fold and every 
wrinkle in my wife’s face, and yet you did not know that 
her life’s wish is to see Paris !” 

“ That may be as it may — still I am surprised at the 
sudden departure.” 

“Yes, we have been here long enough,” said the prince, 
“ and I shall never forget our owing it to you and your 
charming company that the last weeks have passed so 
much more pleasantly. It is a great advantage of these 
watering places that we can socially go about in undress. 
If I should have the pleasure to see you so amiably inter- 
ested in the princess in Paris, you know, I should feel 
compelled tp shoot you like a mad dog, although you are 
her cousin ; while here I am only bound to express my 
gratitude to you for your self-sacrifice.” The prince said 
this in his usual affected tone, which allowed his words to 
be taken in earnest or in jest, but he let at the same time 
a flash escape his eyes that gave Alfonse much food for 
jneditatioa, 


280 


THE ELOPEMENT. 


“Is it true,” he asked Chessa that evening, when the 
prince was sitting by the side of his English beauty at 
the green table, “ is it true that you have asked to be 
taken to Paris and to leave this place, where we have 
spent so many happy days ?” 

“ What ?” she cried frightened. “ Did he tell you so ? 
He told me to-day that he found Monaco no longer 
amusing, and he was getting ready to leave.” 

“Then it is evident he wants to separate us. He 
warned me to-day that he was going to assume the part 
of the insulted husband. He does that to punish you 
and me. But let us be wiser and bolder at the same time. 
It is time to come to a decision. If you refuse now you 
doom yourself to life-long slavery. Believe me.” 

“Ah,” sighed Chessa, clinging closely to her lover, and 
looking at him passionately with her deep, glowing eyes. 
“ How can we do it ?” 

He thereupon unfolded his plan to her. She was en- 
chanted, for this was exactly what pleased best her ad- 
venturous spirit that was continually thirsting for new 
things. 

He proposed that she should elope with him and then 
try to obtain a divorce. “ If we can obtain a divorce on 
German soil, no French tribunal will be able to touch 
your funds in Germany. A divorce, I think, you can 
easily obtain on the ground of ill-treatment at the hands 
of the prince. Your fortune is Uncle Liondell’s inherit- 
ance. He is so old that he cannot possibly live much 
longer. But I hope, what is far better, we shall win him 
over to our side, and I should be ineffably happy if we 
could render his last days more happy than they are 
likely to be without us. What joy if I could bring him 
back his niece, hereafter to be his daughter, his true, 
devoted daughter ! He also wished you to be happy, and 
if we tell him that the prince has made you unhappy, he 


THE ELOPEMENT. 


281 


will try to make amends for his mistake in giving you 
the prince as your husband. But if everything should 
miscarry, if misfortune should pursue us — even then are 
we two not enough for each other? Who knows, we 
might amuse ourselves all the better for it. You have a 
heavenly voice, and if I were to act as your impressario, 
I think we could do a good business.” 

Chessa laughed heartily, and kissed his lips that 
uttered such frivolous, trifling thoughts so seriously, and 
an almost wild joy at the thought of startling adventures 
and a changing fate, filled her with hope and delight. 

“You are right, Alfonse ! Iam tired sitting here and 
piping in my gilded cage. What do you think, Alfonse ? 
Would it not be a splendid notion to go to America? 
We’ll give concerts, and these rich Yankees will pay us 
bushels of gold dollars ! Would not that be a glorious 
life ? — every day another city, another people, and always 
pyramids of flowers and piles of dollars ! I’ll go with 
you ! Here is my hand ! Now get ready, and let us start 
as soon as we can.” 

They agreed to start the very next night, with only so 
much luggage as was absolutely necessary ; the rest 
could follow later. They had found out that there was 
a Genoese steamer in the harbor, whidh the day after 
the next would leave Monaco on her way to Naples and 
Palermo. Alfonse engaged a trusty boatman who would 
be waiting for them at the foot of the steps leading down 
to the wharf, and who would in a short time row them out 
to the steamer. 

The night which had been agreed upon for the execu- 
tion of this attempt to escape, approached with over- 
whelming slowness. Alfonse tried to watch the play at 
the Casino with an air of indifference, and was only 
waiting for the moment when, as usual, the prince and 
his red-haired beauty should be fully absorbed in the 


282 


THE ELOPEMENT. 


vagaries of the game. The luggage had been carried 
into the boat in the twilight already, and no one seemed 
to have noticed anything strange in the transaction, as 
the same man had often carried Alfonse out to the open 
sea, and he had been made aware, besides, of the inten- 
tion of the two lovers. 

Midnight drew near, and the prince was as yet merely 
trifling ; he had not yet begun to play heavily. He was 
sipping his iced coffee, joking with the ladies about their 
richly-carved sunshade handles, and told stories which 
made the fair English woman laugh till she showed the 
whole two ranges of superb but gigantic teeth. Once 
Alfonse became afraid that the prince was watching him 
and looked suspicious. His eyes, he thought he saw, 
were incessantly following all his movements, and this led 
him to make quite sure to join him and his company near 
a window, and to sit so as to face him directly. 

He sent for his favorite wine, sparkling Asti, but the 
moment he touched the brim of the glass he fancied he 
saw a terrible, distorted face look into the room through 
a window. This terrified him so that he had to set down 
the glass, and he felt how he turned pale. The face, which 
had instantly disappeared again, resembled, he thought 
strikingly, the Turkish Interpreter of fatal memory. 

He sprang up and looked out of the window. He saw 
nothing. The English woman, who had followed his 
movements, asked him : 

“What is the matter? You look like a ghost !” 

Alfonse made some trifling reply and resumed his place, 
very much ashamed of his timidity. “My conscience,” 
he said to himself, “ plays me ugly tricks. I am as easily 
frightened as a girl.” 

“ Won’t you tell us what it was ?” asked another lady. 

“ Has any one of you perhaps noticed a guest here 
who hails from Africa ? It looked to me as if I saw a 


THE ELOPEMENT. 


283 


gentleman from Zanzibar, who belonged to the Embassy 
qf the Sultan, that came last year to Berlin !” 

“If such a darkling gentleman were among us we 
should have noticed him, I am sure,” said the prince 

“Of course, we would all have noticed him,” added 
Alfonse. He drank his Asti, tried to shake off the un- 
comfortable feeling, and thought of the details of his 
project. 

“It is strange,” said the prince, “how far we are de- 
pendent on habit in every respect. Why does a black 
image appear to us formidable, when we have never met 
with brown or black images of God ? One would 
imagine black to be the original, the natural color of 
man, and white has only come to us gradually, as some 
members of our race, evidently intended for the Tropics, 
made their way northward and southward, where they 
learnt to wear clothes, to eat meat, and to become sick 
and pale. Such, at least, is the doctrine of our great 
Schopenhauer !” 

“ Oh !” exclaimed the young English woman, “now I 
can explain to myself what Stanley wrote. After he had 
found Livingstone, and when he was on his way home, 
crossing the whole Continent, he had been for many 
months exclusively among black men. When he reached 
the Portuguese colonies, he says he was perfectly horri- 
fied by seeing these Europeans ; for although we should 
have called them dark brown, they looked to him ghastly 
pale, and he adds that now he understood the terror of 
black men when they for the first time saw Europeans 
with their spectral, pale faces.” 

“You see there,” said the prince, “the usefulness of 
erudition. The learned man explains everything.” And 
thereupon he expanded the subject, and overwhelmed his 
hearers with such a deluge of words that Alfonse was 


284 


THE ELOPEMENT. 


more and more confirmed in his suspicions that the 
prince was watching him. 

This became all the more serious to him as midnight, 
the hour appointed for their flight, was nearly approach- 
ing. He thought of the boat that was waiting, and of 
Chessa, whose heart was beating to see him come. And 
yet, he did not dare leave the room. What could he do 
if the prince should follow him ? 

At last, however, the idle talk came to an end, the 
ladies took their seats at their favorite table, spreading 
their bananas on the green cloth, with their bank notes, 
and the prince stood behind the chair of the red-haired 
girl. 

Now Alfonse disappeared in the. crowd. The night 
was bright, the moon’s silvery light illumined the whole 
scene, but a flock of fleecy clouds drifted now and then 
over it, and for a time darkened the landscape. As on 
his first evening in Monaco, but with very different 
thoughts, Alfonse slipped hurriedly through the shrub- 
bery of the park, after having concealed himself at the 
hotel in his large traveling cloak. With a pleasant sense 
of security, he felt the handle of his revolver, and cast 
away the last little feeling of fear arising from the face 
at the window. Only a little while longer, only a short 
walk through the little gorge and out on the coast, and 
he would float with his beloved one towards a blissful 
future. 

The villa was dark ; in the verandah alone a pale pink 
lamp was shedding a faint, rosy light to show him the 
way to Chessa’s chamber. He vaulted over the railing, 
crossed the verandah and opened the door which his love 
had left open for him. He found her busy with a tiny 
toilet bag, a masterpiece of English skill, and contain- 
ing everything that a lady can possibly want on her trav- 
els. From a carefully concealed small drawer that was 


THE ELOPEMENT. 


285 


full of rubies and diamonds, she drew the ominous neck- 
lace, and holding the mysterious old ornament in her 
hand, she said to Alfonse : 

“ I do not know whether it is foolish superstition, but 
I feel as if my fate depended on this talisman of coral 
and gold. I have never worn the chain since we left 
Berlin, but I think I will put it on to-day.” 

She hung the remarkable ornament around her neck, 
and it looked magnificent, as the strange little forms and 
figures contrasted with her velvety, dark skin, and a del- 
uge of blue-black hair rolled all over it. Alfonse, sunk 
in admiration, gazed at her, and said : 

“ Now you are entirely mine, you gypsy princess !” 
And caressing and kissing her, he added : “ The boat is 
ready. Come !” 

The servants had all been sent to bed, and no one met 
the couple as they left the villa, made their way through 
the gardens, and at last reached the wide, open sea in 
the silvery sheen of the moon. She hung on his arm 
and pressed it tenderly. The dark outlines of the boat 
were rocking under shelter of a colossal rock. 

“ What an enchanting night for an elopement!” said 
Alfonse, triumphantly, a proud feeling of delight filling 
his heart, as he pressed a kiss upon Chessa’s lips. 
“ There where you see that dark spot lies our vessel. 
Come, let us get into the boat before the clouds hide 
once more our heavenly light.” 

The boatman came to meet the two travelers, and 
helped first the lady to get into his small boat, carrying 
her a few yards through the playful, splashing waves, 
which came to break against the shingle in silvery show- 
ers. In the meantime, however, the moon had disap- 
peared behind its fleecy veil of cloudlets, and all the 
objects around appeared phantom-like in their uncertain 
and deceitful outlines. Alfonse was looking at the boat. 


286 


THE ELOPEMENT. 


in which he saw a crouching shape near the rudder, while 
Chessa was taking her seat on the foremost bench. 
Suddenly it appeared to him as if this figure of a man 
was much larger than the boy who had usually accom- 
panied the boatman on his excursions. 

“Who is that?” he asked the latter, pointing with his 
finger at the indistinct form near the stern. 

“That is my boy, your Excellency,” said the man, get- 
ting ready to carry Alfonse also through the water. 

“ Wait a moment !” said Alfonse. 

A thought of treachery crossed his mind ; he knew not 
why and whence, but the sight of this man inspired him 
unconsciously with suspicion. He hesitated. “We can 
manage the boat alone,” he said at last. “ You can leave 
the boy here, Pietro.” 

“ Alone ? Impossible, your Excellency !” cried the 
boatman. “ Consider, I pray, that there is a lady in the 
boat, and your Excellency knows how different that is. 
Oh, if we were only we too, I do not say, but — ” 

The coast looked lonely, the sea deep and still, the 
boatman, an avaricious Italian who knew the purpose of 
the excursion and the importance of secrecy, the small 
but precious baggage, the large amount of money in 
Alfonse’s pockets, the unsafe boat and the dark night — 
all these circumstances were by no means calculated to 
calm the fears of the traveler. 

“ Why don’t you come ?” asked Chessa, in a low, 
anxious voice. 

Alfonse put once more his hand on the pistol in his 
belt, reflected that the revolver gave him control over 
six lives in case of need, and recalled his experience in 
the French war, where he had found that weapon a most 
useful, most trustworthy friend. He reflected how 
unwise it would be now to return, and still more to 
quarrel with the boatman. 


THE WEDDING TRIP. 


287 


“Well, then, forward march!” he cried in a spirit of 
bravado ; had himself carried into the boat, and took his 
seat on the bench. As soon as the boat was quiet again, 
the man at the stern pushed off from the shore, the old 
man unfurled the sail, since there was a light breeze 
blowing in the right direction, and Alfonse, with his arm 
around the artist’s waist, felt as if all danger was over- 
come. It was not yet light enough to distinguish the 
features of the so-called boy, who besides managed to 
busy himself in such a way that his face was turned away 
from Alfonse. 

The coast receded farther and farther, swiftly, and with 
a merry, purling, gurgling sound, the keel of the boat cut 
through the dark waters, and all of a sudden the Spanish 
singer raised her voice and in rollicking, frolicking tones 
she Sang a joyous Spanish sailor’s song. Alfonse was 
enchanted, and listening to the silvery, bell-like notes, he 
was too busy watching the fairy-like beauty of the singer 
to notice the half-concealed features of the man he sus- 
pected, and thus they sailed out into the open sea. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE WEDDING TRIP. 

Count Eyry met on his journey to the Russian general’s 
encampment, with more and with greater difficulties 
than he had expected. He applied in Orenburg to sev- 
eral persons in high places, but came to the conclusion 
that the powers that ruled there did not just now wish 
to have foreign officers witnesses of what was going on. 


288 THE WEDDING TRIP. 

Several friends also, who wrote to him from the vanguard 
and one or two detached corps, warned him not to hope 
for a more liberal policy. The count’s desire to pene- 
trate into the heart of Persia, to push his way, in fact, to 
regions which had never yet been explored by Western 
traveler, gradually grew weaker, and he became dis- 
couraged and disheartened. 

The letters which the Countess Hyacinth sent him to 
Orenburg, and in a friendly tone kept him informed of 
what was going on in the circles with which he was 
specially bound up, were in these days a source of great 
comfort to him, and grew in attractiveness and in import- 
ance in proportion as his adventurous mind became 
calmer and more content. No wonder, therefore, that 
when after long, tedious waiting, official information 
was sent to him that the new expedition would not Start 
before eight months, he instantly ordered his servant to 
pack his things, and started on his return to Berlin. 

Hyacinth’s violet eyes lighted up to a new life, and her 
cheeks blushed in maidenly reserve, when the stately, 
chivalrous form once more stood before her, trying to 
read his welcome in her face. The father also appeared 
less stern than he had been months ago. The painful 
impression produced by an event which, however sad, 
still had released the family from a heavy burden on their 
consciences, had faded away, and the future appeared to 
encourage new hopes. 

Count Victor had a serious interview with the father of 
his adored, and the result was that he entered the young 
lady’s boudoir, where she was busily employed in her 
embroidery, with an air of joy and happiness that she 
could not but read at once. And when he now repeated 
his prayer, and she heard once more the momentous 
words, both lovers felt as if this was no new love, but 
merely the happy conclusion of a long settled arrange- 


THE WEDDING TRIP. 


289 


ment. But what joy ! A soft glow seemed to per- 
vade her whole being, and left not the smallest frag- 
ment of fear or anxiety, of doubt or hesitation behind. 
Both felt perfect confidence in the heavenly dispensa- 
tion, both felt as certain of their happiness as man can 
be while he dwells on earth. 

“ A poor knight and a poor damsel join their fortunes,” 
he said smiling, and then with a happy smile on his dark, 
burnt face, he went on painting the modest ways which 
would hereafter have to be theirs. “I see prophetically, my 
Hyacinth pore over her account books, wander through 
kitchen and cellar, calculate and bargain, and watch over 
the prodigality of a single cook or a single maid. I see 
you radiant, like the young morning, in your modest 
morning-gown, that is more becoming to you than Worth’s 
last confection, prepare my simple breakfast before I 
mount my horse ; and I see you, but slightly changed, 
still simple and still adorned by inborn elegance, come to 
meet me when I return, tired and weary, from my hard 
service. Oh, what heavenly happiness ! Splendid dinners 
and gorgeous feasts we shall not be able to give, but we 
shall be happy for all that, my Hyacinth, my love !” 

With such speeches, half in earnest, half in jest, the 
countess and her betrothed passed many a joyous hour, 
and hastened, as far as it could be done, the day ap- 
pointed for the wedding. 

It was a most select company that met on this .joyful 
day in the count’s house, and Hyacinth, in her bridal 
veil of old lace and the unfailing wreath of blooming 
myrtle, looked surpassingly beautiful — such was the 
unanimous decision of all who witnessed the ceremony. 
That very evening the newly-married couple started for 
Monaco, as Prince Lignac had urgently begged them to 
spend the honeymoon, during the late autumn, in that 
paradisical corner of the earth. 


290 


THE WEDDING TRIP. 


They traveled slowly, remaining a few days in Frank- 
fort, a few weeks in Paris, and leisurely enjoyed visits 
here and there along the road, like truly happy people 
who cared but for the moment. In Paris they were 
overtaken by a piece of news which was as pleasant as it 
was surprising. Old Baron Liondell had died, and in 
his last will was found a legacy of half a million for the 
count’s family, subject only to the condition that a suit- 
able white marble monument should be erected in their 
ancestral castle. By this inheritance the family was at 
once relieved of all financial difficulties, and were re- 
stored to their former pleasant and unencumbered posi- 
tion among the great families of the realm. 

With hearts filled with gratitude to the old gentleman 
who had suffered so grievously, and shown himself so 
generous to the family, they continued their journey, and 
were received in Monaco at the station already by 
Prince Lignac. He told them at once that he and Chessa 
had been left the whole of the old banker’s enormous 
wealth, as he had heard by telegram only forty-eight 
hours ago, and that they now were rich to an extent 
which could hardly be accurately defined. The newly- 
married couple offered their congratulations, and at the 
same time the expressions of their sympathy with the 
loss of his wife’s uncle, and then enjoyed the enchanting 
views, which their drive to the villa afforded them, over 
the tropical vegetation of the gardens, and over the 
deep blue Mediterranean. A superb dinner awaited 
them. 

“ But where is your wife ?” asked the count. 

“My wife is traveling, dear Victor,” replied the 
prince. 

“Alone ?” asked count and countess, amazed. 

“ Hardly !” was the prompt and cutting reply. “ She 
seems to have left Monaco in company with her young 


THE WEDDING TRIP. 


291 


cousin, the ex-Lieutenant Steelyard, whose acquaintance 
she had renewed here, and I believe by water.” 

“ What do you say ?” cried the count, while his wife 
stared amazed at the perfectly unmoved face of the 
prince, whose wide-open blue eyes looked as calm as 
if he had been speaking of utterly unknown person- 
ages. 

“ I say that my wife left me late in the evening, three 
days ago, without observing the common courtesy of 
telling me that she was going away, and that I strongly 
suspect her of having been accompanied by her cousin, 
with whom she had kept up a great intimacy for some 
time.” 

“ And you take it so coolly ?” 

“ What could it help me to be furious?” 

“You might at least, pursue her, put all the telegraph 
lines in motion, and get her to come back to you ; you 
might kill the seducer and set an example how such 
creatures ought to be treated. I do not understand 
you !” 

“ My dear Victor, I thought of all that,” said the 
prince, “ but my second, sober thought made me think 
better of it. You say matrimony is holy. I agree, but I 
say reason also has its holiness. Let us reason. If my 
wife leaves me, does not that show that she likes to live 
somewhere else better than with me ? If she travels in 
company of her cousin, I conclude that she likes his 
company better than mine. What am I to do ? I can 
be sorry that she has no better taste, but I can certainly 
not improve her taste by keeping her forcibly near me. 
Love is a very peculiar thing. It cannot be forced. I 
consider myself a fair sample of a man not worse and 
not better than the average of men. But if it turns out 
that Chessa has no liking for me, shall I make myself 
utterly hateful to her by forcing her to keep me com- 


292 


THE WEDDING TKIP. 


pany? There is in Paris a friend of mine, an amiable, 
charming young man, Count Lestorg, who made the 
same unpleasant experience, that his wife ran away with 
a young Englishman, an attache to the British Embassy. 
He did what you think I ought to do, he ran after them, 
fought a duel with the Englishman, broke his ear to 
pieces, and brought his wife back home. He has her 
now, but he has whispered more than once in my ear, 
that he wishes he had let her go. ‘ My wife thinks all 
the time of the Englishman with the broken ear, and 
weeps in my presence.’ No ! my dear Victor ! At my 
wedding I resolved to do all I could to make my wife 
happy ; for that is, I am convinced, the true meaning of 
the oath we take at the altar. This vow I mean to 
keep. Mr. Steelyard is not so bad, and if my wife really 
feels happy in his company, then I shall not interfere.” 

“I only fear, my dear Lignac,” said the count, “that 
society will not comprehend such very unusual views, 
and will think your honor requires more energetic 
action.” 

“My dear Victor,” said the prince, “no one can 
value public opinion more highly than I do. But I think 
there are limits to its weight also, and these every man 
must settle with his own conscience. However, I have 
anticipated such views as yours, also, and two of my 
friends have my strict order to challenge Mr. Steelyard 
wherever they may meet him. And I myself shall do 
him that honor, for my wife’s sake only, if he should 
ever be stupid enough to cross my path.” , 

“ And has that — accident — not made the place unpleas- 
ant to you ? Had you not rather leave Monaco ? I 
hope our coming — ” 

“Oh, pray, do not think of it. Your charming visit 
here is in every respect a great favor, which I highly 
appreciate. I have never thought of leaving, and shall 


THE WEDDING TRIP. 


293 


not think of it as long as the weather is so glorious. 
Mrs. Grundy cannot be avoided in any society on earth, 
in Berlin or in Rome, in London or in St. Petersburg. 
The less ado I make of it the sooner it will be forgotten. 
This is my reason for quietly remaining here.” 

The two friends discussed the question for some time 
yet, while Hyacinth listened w r ith bated breath, till at 
last the prince led the conversation in another channel 
so that she could take part in the discussion, and when 
dinner was over he proposed a walk to the palace. 

The landscape beauties of the place made a deep 
impression upon the young wife, who had never yet been 
so far South, and greatly enjoyed the bland, soft air, and 
the blue sky above the deep blue Mediterranean, while 
at home October had already brought fogs and cold and 
even snow. Both men enjoyed her pleasure, but Count 
Victor was enthusiastic in his admiration of her keen 
perception and judicious appreciation of Nature’s sur- 
passing beauties. 

The palace of the Prince of Monaco is not like so many 
Italian palazza, a modest villa with a pretentious title, 
nor an old ruin, but a genuine palace, which suffers only 
one drawback, that it is so utterly out of proportion with 
the diminutive size of the principality. Nature has lav- 
ished her richest treasures here, and Art has, for many 
generations, contributed its share of the work with" 
matchless skill and unparalleled good taste. 

When the three friends entered the gardens which sur- 
round the palace and everywhere look as if they formed 
a part of the whole by sending their gorgeous flower- 
beds right into the little courts and many openings 
between buildings, they met some ladies and gentlemen 
of the court who knew Prince Lignac. The two groups 
joined at once, and the young married couple found many 
an opportunity to confidential exchange of views and 


294 


THE WEDDING- TRIP. 


impressions, by escaping the crowd occasionally un- 
noticed. From one of the inner gardens they stepped 
forth through a narrow gate half hid between two tow- 
ering palm-trees, and down a few dismembered marble 
steps, upon an open place which afforded the most superb 
outlook over the sea. This had evidently been an obser- 
vation post of the old fortress, where some guns had 
been stationed. The outer wall had had loop-holes in the 
embrazure, which were now completely concealed by 
geraniums and creeping plants. Beyond it the rock fell 
sheer down to the waters that tossed their foaming 
waves high up, capped with silvery crests. 

Hyacinth was leaning on the count’s shoulder, and her 
eyes filled with tears as she gazed out upon the sea, 
which just then was glowing like liquid, molten gold 
under the rays of the setting sun, while far, far away, the 
island of Corsica was faintly hanging on the horizon like 
a tiny cloudlet. 

“ This is too beautiful, my beloved !” she said, folding 
her hands. “ I cannot yet realize my happiness in being 
here in this Paradise on earth, and united to you. I feel 
as if we must fly up to Heaven hand in hand.” 

The count kissed her forehead, and in his eye also there 
glittered something like a tear of joy. 

“Do you know what I cannot understand ?” she asked 
after a long pause. 

“Well, what, my heart’s darling?” 

“ I cannot comprehend your friend, Victor. If you 
were torn from me, that would be death to me. And 
before I could leave you, I think the world would have 
to perish first. And he, the prince, talks of it, laughs at 
it, and laughs at us.” 

“My sweet Hyacinth, that is very simple. We love 
each other. But Meridac and Chessa never did love 


THE WEDDING TRIP. 


295 


each other. I am disposed to think he is glad she ran 
away.” 

“ The prince has become an enigma to me ; he is 
uncanny,” said the young wife, shuddering. “ He may 
be as amiable as man can be, and this land may be as 
enchanting as you say, but I would rather leave here 
pretty soon, Victor.” 

There was to be a concert that night and “ The Dan - 
sant” after it at the Casino, and the prince had ordered 
carriages to return from the Casino to his villa in Monte 
Carlo. They took the outer road, which follows the coast 
for awhile and then turns inland again near the other 
end of the town. The sun was sinking below the hori- 
zon, and seemed for awhile to set the water aglow from 
underneath ; the small coasting vessels were lying like 
wierd, dark monsters upon this fiery mass, and the waves 
beat the rocks here with a low, hollow growl, while a 
cooling east wind was driving moist waves of air inland. 

“ Wonderfully fair and enchanting !” exclaimed Hya- 
cinth, and drew in with full strength the refreshing sea- 
air, when she suddenly became aware of a dark crowd of 
men who seemed to gaze at something unusual. Loud 
cries were heard and hurried steps. 

“ What can it be ?” asked the count. 

As they drew nearer, they heard how the boatmen 
called out to each other, as they ran down to the water’s 
edge, that a misfortune had happened, a terrible acci- 
dent. A shadow flew across the prince’s features, when 
he heard the outcry, as if anticipating a horror that 
might concern him. 

He stopped the carriage and got^but, requesting the 
count to go on with his bride. 

The carriage drove on, but the prince went down to 
that part of the harbor where the men were assembled. 
Here a number of sailors and boatmen were busy trying 


296 


THE QUARREL. 


to draw, with long poles having hooks at the end, some- 
thing out of the water and on shore. It looked like a 
many-colored bulk, but when they were able to lay it on 
the sand, it turned out to be two human bodies so closely 
clinging to each other that they formed, as it were, but 
one bulk. It was a man and a woman. The woman 
held with spasmodic fingers to the bloody clothes of the 
man. 

As they lay on the shingle after they had been torn 
from each other, the prince recognized the features of his 
wife and her seducer. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE QUARREL. 

Good, warm-hearted Ephraim, although no longer 
winged by his first glowing union with Flora, could not 
free himself from the bewitching charm of the love she 
. inspired and the love he returned. It was too gloriously 
sweet to follow the golden-haired maid without ceremony, 
and to let his weary head rest a little in her embraces. 
Even the old house inspirited him. The low but deep 
rooms, with the old, unmeaning furniture, knew nothing 
of the world and its troubles, and in the bay-window with 
the flowers, time was three hundred years older than in 
Berlin. No philosopher, ancient or modern, pessimist 
or optimist, had evfcr criticised this community of two- 
legged birds without feathers, and here kissing was per- 
mitted without special license. Ephraim let himself be 
borne on and on by the vague, dreamy waves, like a 
swimmer on the bank of the swift-flowing rivei that 


THE QUARREL 


297 


carries him, unconscious as he is, far out and away from 
the last possible chance of return. 

News from home had generally but little interest for 
him, and the tragic end of Uncle Comet produced no 
other demonstration than a vigorous wagging of the 
head. He was deep in his heart fully convinced that a 
benevolent God was directing all events, and that it was 
foolish to meditate on the advantages or disadvantages 
of events which must come. But it made him sad to hear 
that his brother Alfonse had left the army and had finally 
disappeared, no one knew how. He wrote to his father : 
“ Deal gently with the young man, even with Absalom !” 

Fair Flora let him have his own way in sweetest sim- 
plicity — and he took it. He tried to persuade her often 
that their relations ought to be free from all Pharisaical 
cants, but as he did not very clearly know what he meant 
by that himself, he did not greatly wonder that she 
would continue to ask for information which embarrassed 
him greatly. 

One soft, sweet evening towards the end of September, 
the young people, fair Flora and her Ephraim, the 
future forester with his beloved, and the friend who 
loved the elder cousin, had paid a visit to the forester’s 
lodge, and when preparing to return, a proposition was 
made that they all should return by Castle Lenau, where 
the young princess’ marriage with Count Fest was taking 
place that day. The plan was hailed with shouts of ap- 
probation, and soon the whole merry little troop was 
frolicking through the dense forest in the direction of the 
castle. On the way something like an attack of melan- 
choly befell Ephraim, which he could not explain and 
little Flora could not dispel. All kinds of gruesome 
thoughts suddenly beset him, while he was racing with 
Flora or laughing with others. It seemed to become 
strangely clear to him this evening, that in the families 


298 


THE QUARREL. 


with whom he lived, a firm conviction prevailed that 
daughters should prefer marriage to elective affinities, 
and that marriage was after all their real and true des- 
tiny. And although he was firmly resolved never to 
marry dear little Flora, he yet could not think of parting 
with her — the result being that he felt himself irrevocably 
drifting towards an engagement. 

He walked silently on under the clear, starry sky, and 
fair Flora hung, merrily chatting, on his arm. It was 
one of her charms which he valued above many others, 
that she did not object to his silence, much less thought 
there was any offence in it, but kept on prattling just as 
sweetly as if she received prompt and precise answers to 
every remark — her only effort being a kiss or two with 
which she from time to time tried to unlock his lips. This 
she had done just now, as she found him deeply absorbed 
in the study of a sunflower. He looked up at her with 
dreamy eyes, and said: 

“ The Ancients thought Geometry was the one and 
greatest amusement of the Gods — what do you think of 
that ?” 

Fair Flora laughed and shook her beautiful curls, while 
he looked up at the starry sky and thought of the 
Geometry of the Heavens. Thus they had gone some 
distance along the edge of the woods, when suddenly the 
road turned round a corner, and a view opened with sur- 
prising abruptness upon the palace with its long rows of 
brilliantly illumined windows, that vied wdth the count- 
less lights and lamps which made even the depth of the 
forest a scene as bright as daylight. All the avenues and 
open spaces of the park displayed hundreds of Chinese 
lamps, and in the centre of this ocean of light the gay 
music of a large regimental band of musicians made itself 
heard. On the side terrace most remote from the centre 
of the company, they saw a score of dark-complexioned 


THE QUARREL. 


299 


men in ill-chosen costumes, with red sashes and glittering 
metallic ornaments, who were playing a curious kind of 
music specially for the lovers of Hungarian dances, which 
they merrily performed on the green turf, accompanying 
it with quaint snatches of song. It was a band of gypsies 
which had been sent for to gratify the bride of the day, 
and the passionate national songs of the vast plains of 
Hungary, now sinking into deep melancholy and then 
again rising to very jubilees of joy and rapture, strangely' 
contrasted with the more simple and solid music of the 
Germans. 

The forester, who had taken the lead of the little com- 
pany, led them to this slightly remote place, but a prince- 
ly servant, having recognized the well-known official, 
opened him a small gate in the invisible wire-fence, and 
invited them to a table not far from the princely kitchen. 
Here they took seats, and with surprising alacrity other 
servants brought food and drink to the little company. 
This turn of affairs was welcomed by all, and Ephraim 
also was nothing loath to taste the wedding-wine, as the 
attractions of the brilliant scene encouraged him to enjoy 
himself. Fair Flora also was radiant with delight, and 
enjoyed the unusual spectacle to her heart’s content. 

It was for her, who had never seen a specimen even of 
life in higher circles than her own, a great enjoyment to 
watch the festive arrangements and the eminent wedding- 
guests, the elegant ladies in their wonderful dresses, the 
handsome officers in brilliant uniforms, surrounded by 
the exceptionally rich and beautiful architecture of the 
palace ; and all this under a bright, cloudless sky with its 
millions of sparkling golden stars on their own dark blue 
background. Flora here caught a glimpse of another 
world, a world rich in joys and enjoyments, a world 
which she did not know, nor desire to live in, but which 


300 


THE QUARREL. 


evidently was wondrously fair, to judge by the mere 
glimpse which she obtained to-day. 

Very different was the impression this world produced 
on Ephraim’s mind. He looked up to the stars and fan- 
cied for a moment that he was sitting among the gods on 
high, with whom he now saw this funny little crowd on 
earth roll with amazing rapidity through the sky. 

Ephraim’s strange dreams were suddenly interrupted 
in an unexpected manner, for a slender officer in the 
almost poetic uniform of an Austrian hussar, came sud- 
denly up to their table, looked haughtily, as if in search 
of some one, from face to face, and then, without ado, 
seized Flora’s hand, put his arm around her waist, and 
disappeared with her in the crowd of dancing guests. 
Disgusting as the proceeding appeared to Ephraim, he 
was far more distressed by the unmistakable satisfaction 
with which Flora acquiesced in her fate. Instead of 
struggling with it, or at least of following the bold rob- 
ber like a lamb on its way to the shambles, Flora went 
with him willingly, and showed in her face such genuine 
happiness, in her eyes such pure joy, that Ephraim’s 
heart sank low. 

The handsome officer brought Flora back after awhile, 
and addressed her some compliments which Ephraim 
could not understand, but which Flora seemed to appre- 
ciate, as she probably would have done had they been ut- 
tered in Chinese or Japanese. At all events she thanked 
him with her sweetest smile, and showed everybody 
around her a gentle kindness and perfumed courtesy that 
had not been natural to her before. Ephraim pretended 
not to notice the change in her manner, but quietly 
drank his wine and tried to keep his rebellious heart 
from boiling over. 

“A wretched generation, a miserable race!” he said 
to himself. “ We must purchase you or must tame you — 


THE QUARREL. 


301 


true love you do not know. It is not worth while to call 
you our own, and the true philosopher neither marries 
nor seduces. What is the triumph worth over a heart to 
which a gold-laced coat and a stiff black moustache will 
forever be a danger ?” 

Flora, however, amused herself royally, as she called 
it, and did not at all notice her lover’s silence. She had 
never been as happy in her life. A servant told her that 
the Austrian officer was a count, and this had filled the 
measure of her happiness to the brim. The name she 
had not caught — but what did it matter? To have 
danced with a count, an officer, a hussar, moreover a 
strikingly handsome man, and above all a man who had 
promised he would come back and ask for another dance 
— was not that bliss enough ? She repeated in her mind 
every word he had said, and wondered anew how very 
witty and bright it all had been, and how she had had to 
laugh all the time ! He had not spoken of the Gods, or 
of Geometry ; he had told her with a delightful Hun- 
garian oath, that he had never, never in his life seen as 
pretty a girl as she was ! He had been very bold, for in 
the very height of the dance, when they were all turning 
round and round, and she at least did not know where 
she was and what they all were doing, he had kissed her 
without asking her leave. Or what was it, if it was not 
a kiss ? Something so wondrously sweet and good she 
would like to try it once more, just to know what it really 
was. 

In the meantime Ephraim’s dark looks and persistent 
silence had attracted the attention of the forester, who 
was a kind-hearted, good-natured man, and could not 
bear to see people unhappy whom he loved. Unfortu- 
nately his efforts to cheer up Ephraim failed lamentably, 
because he blended them with the praise he sang of the 
princely house. He evidently, in his old-fashioned loyalty 


302 


THE QUARREL. 


and reverence for high places, considered it an honor, if 
an officer, a guest invited by his master, the duke, came 
and danced with his daughter, and the candor with 
which he confessed this, made the young man almost 
mad. He rose suddenly, and proposed that they should 
return home. This proposal, however, met with vehe- 
ment opposition., The forester’s family and his friends 
were all most comfortable in their snug corner so near 
the great fountain from which all eatables and drinkables 
proceeded on their way to the ball-room and other parts 
of the festive place. 

“What is the matter?” asked Flora. “Why do you 
want to go already ?” 

“ Do you really not know ?” he asked, with quivering 
lips. 

“ Really not !” she answered, and she told the truth. 

“ Then I’ll tell you ; I do not like your following any 
one who asks you to dance with him !” 

He regretted having said it as soon*as the words were 
spoken, for he knew very well that perfect composure 
would have been the best policy, but it was too late. 
Fair Flora did not have the gift to keep secret what she 
thought. She spoke freely and with the same wonderful 
candor with which she had confessed to him how dear he 
was to her ; she now told him that he had no right to 
make her any reproaches, to deprive her of any pleasure, 
or to forbid her doing anything she chose to do. 

“ There the girl is right !” said the forester seriously, 
looking at Ephraim. He had for some time disliked 
intensely the uncertain relations that existed between the 
young man and fair Flora. 

Ephraim was silent. He felt that they were right, 
these people with whom he had so little in common, 
whose words and thoughts were as strange to him as his 
were to them. He made no effort to explain his feelings. 


THE QUARREL. 


303 


But in Flora’s eyes a tear had, in the meantime, come to 
show how deeply she felt offended by this strange man 
who claimed to control her actions. She had other 
things, besides, that had long clamored for utterance, 
and now came out, she hardly knew how. 

“Yes,” she said in a very decided tone, “yes, Ephraim, 
you behave very badly to me ! You say I am a coquette, 
and like everybody who comes and courts me. If you 
had any ground for saying so, it could only be because I 
have granted to your courting perhaps more than was 
right, while you have done nothing for me in return. 
You do not know how much I have suffered for you, from 
parents, relations and friends. They all tell me it is not 
right in me to be so intimate with you, whilst you do 
nothing to show that you like me. If you were concerned 
for my reputation, they say, you would have long since 
taken the proper steps. I know you are a scholar, a 
great scholar, but even a scholar ought to know that a 
girl is not to be treated in such a disgraceful way. The 
few years I may look nice will soon be gone, and then 
I’ll sit there and no one will care for me any more ! I 
have, of course, never said a word about that, because I 
do not think a girl ought to speak of such things, but 
since you now assume a tone as if you had a right to 
command me, I must tell you I am free to dance with 
whom I choose ; and when so great a lord comes and asks 
me, it would be ill-mannered in me to refuse him. What 
would my uncle and my cousins have thought of me if I 
had refused to dance with him ? Ask them.” 

Fair Flora would have said much more if at that mo- 
ment the beautiful hussar had not approached, with a 
victorious smile, to ask her for another dance. She 
promptly wiped away the little moisture in the corner of 
her eye and turned to him with a smile on her face. But 
this time Ephraim, in his bitterness, stepped between the 


304 


THE QUARREL. 


two. He felt that all was over between him and Flora, 
but he would not permit this bold aristocrat to take her, 
as it were, out of his arms. In his innermost heart he was 
chivalrous enough. Already in his early youth he had 
dreamt much of heroes and heroic deeds. If he had but 
been of the strength and the invulnerability of Siegfried, 
he also would have fought with giants ! But here was 
no giant, here he could be the brave Paladin without 
making himself ridiculous. 

“Sir,” he said in a haughty tone, “you will have the 
kindness to wait. I have something to say to this lady.” 

“ I should think,” replied the Austrian, looking down 
upon Ephraim from the height of his rank and his uni- 
form, “ the young lady would know best herself whether 
she wishes to dance with me or to talk to you.” 

“Certainly,” added little Flora, “I am free to do what 
I choose. We can talk after I have danced.” 

The officer laughed contemptuously. “That was clev- 
erly said. Go, my friend, and take a glass of beer that 
will calm you.” 

To Ephraim in his excited condition, this little scene, 
that to everybody else might have appeared utterly 
insignificant, was a furious tempest which roused all his 
nerves to a state of rage. The conduct of this faithless 
maiden appeared to him so monstrous, the position in 
which she had placed him with this strange, haughty 
man, so humiliating, that he lost all self-control. Too 
delicately organized for the ordinary contact with daily 
life, and virtually communing only with ideal beings, he 
felt the pressure of real life like the torture of a cruel 
instrument. 

Still, a moment longer he abstained from violence, and 
in a touchingly painful voice he said : “ Oh, Flora, dear, 
do not disgrace me before this man — I can settle with 
him easily enough.” For an instant Flora had a sense of 


THE QUARREL. 


. 305 


repentance, and she hesitated. But her great enjoyment 
at the side of this skilful dancer came back to her 
memory, and the world conquered: “Just you go! 
What disgrace is there here ? You are all wrong to-day !” 

“ Come, my fair child, come !” urged the young officer 
impatiently, for the conversation lasted too long for him ; 
“that seems to be an impudent Jew boy !” 

Ephraim drew back and breathed deeply. A blow 
would not have hit him harder than this word. But his 
noble nature rose under this excess of suffering and filled 
it with manly dignity. Icy calmness instantly mastered 
his nerves, and his pale face suddenly hardened into the 
repose of resoluteness. 

While Flora hurried away, happy in the protection of 
the handsome count, Ephraim went to look around for a 
friend in the crowd. He saw a man in uniform, and at 
once formed the resolution to entrust the matter to him. 
Nor was he disappointed. Although the officer was at 
first greatly surprised at Ephraim’s request, he saw in his 
whole manner and speech that he was a gentleman, and 
the fire in his eyes as well as the calmness of his 
behavior, convinced him of the seriousness of the mat- 
ter. He read his card with the well-known name, and 
at once made up his mind to befriend the poor, insulted 
young man, only he wished first to make an attempt 
at pacifying the two adversaries, and hoped to avoid a 
combat which only Ephraim’s deep feeling and the 
favorable impression his earnestness had made, induced 
him to permit. 

The officer begged Ephraim to remember that the 
Austrian officer was a Hungarian, and as such not quite 
master of the German language, and might, therefore, 
readily appear to have been insulting when no such 
intention existed. But Ephraim quietly insisted upon 
the challenge, and his new friend acquiesced. 


306 


THE FAREWELL. 


The officer thereupon bowed, and at once went in 
search of his Austrian comrade, who was at that moment 
merrily drinking punch with his lively dancer, and more 
and more completely succumbed to her charms. He did 
not deny having used the offensive words, and declared, 
with a terrible curse, that he did not in the least repent 
having driven off the impudent fly from such an appetiz- 
ing morsel. There was nothing left, consequently, but 
to agree to a meeting early the next morning, at a cer- 
tain place half an hour from the palace, as soon as the 
authority of the Prussian officer had prevailed on the 
Austrian to admit the student as a fit adversary. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE FAREWELL. 

Fair Flora was rather distressed when Ephraim disap- 
peared that evening, and neither she nor her company 
heard anything of him. Most of them thought he 
might have taken something amiss, and Flora even 
feared she might have offended him by her words. He 
was such a strange, eccentric man, who treated import- 
ant matters as trifles, and made out of mole hills moun- 
tains. 

The fact is, that the young man, rage in heart, had 
walked home through the forest, alone and quickly, pur- 
suing his way almost instinctively in the dark night, and 
only aided by the light of the stars that now and then 
twinkled through the foliage of the trees. After having 
walked perhaps two hours in this way, the forest opened 
before him, and he came to a high place jutting out from 


THE FAREWELL. 


307 


the mountain side like a terrace, and affording a beauti- 
ful outlook upon the Neckar valley and the city beyond. 
He paused and looked at the ghost-like landscape. Deep 
sighs followed each other. He could not guess what 
was going on within him. He knew what a splendid 
view was unrolled before him. He saw that this bright 
country with its faint, misty outlines-o.f hill and moun- 
tain in the far distance, with the silver thread of the 
stream in the valley, with the charm of dim, quivering 
mists covering the lowlands, and black shadows of tall 
trees, possessed paradisical beauties — which he could 
not feel ! He saw that this clear sky with its calmly 
wandering stars and constellations might open immeas- 
urable depths for strong eyes — but not for his ! 

He fell on his knees before the all-powerful charm of 
Nature, and the tears poured in streams from his eyes 
and relieved his heart. Then, however, he felt overcome 
by great exhaustion ; he could not combat a weariness, 
a prostration, that seemed to conquer him in spite of 
all his efforts. He sat down on a mossy bank under a 
dark, densely-foliaged tree, and was soon asleep. He 
slept profoundly and steadily till the cold waked him. 
Then he opened his eyes, looked around in amazement, 
and at last knew where he was. He trembled and shiv- 
ered with cold. His frail, delicate body was not made 
for such roughing. 

“ It would be strange luxury,” he said, sneering to 
himself, “ if I should catch a bad cold on the day on 
which I am killed.” 

He looked around, and remembering that he had once 
been here and had refreshed himself and some friends 
at a little country inn near by, he started in search of the 
house. 


The young actress who lived in the same house with 


308 


THE FAREWELL. 


Ephraim, was disturbed when he did not come home 
that evening. She had been studying the part of Adri- 
enne Lecouveur till two o’clock in the morning, hoping 
he would come after all, and give her some hint or ad- 
vice before retiring. Hut she heard Flora’s company 
return — and no Ephraim. 

When, however, the next morning brought no Ephraim 
to his disconsolate friend, she became seriously anxious, 
for such a thing as a whole night spent away from home 
had never yet happened, and at last, after the rehearsal, 
when she still found his room empty, she made up her 
mind to inquire in Flora’s house. 

The young girl played at first the indifferent neighbor, 
and was quite defiant. She thought it not unlikely that 
the charms of this actress might have taken Ephraim 
from her side, and from this moment, woman-like, she 
conceived a perfect hatred against her, and new love and 
new regard for Ephraim. Still, as she discussed the mat- 
ter with the actress, she remembered some details which 
had escaped her yesterday — his interview with the Prus- 
sian officer, his seriousness, the meeting between this 
same officer and her Austrian count, all these circum- 
stances appeared to-day in a very different light. In 
her distress, and tormented by her conscience, she spoke 
more freely of yesterday’s occurrence than prudence 
would have advised, and the clever actress soon guessed 
the whole proceeding. 

“ I have long since expected this would come,” she 
said angrily. “ A person such as you was the very per- 
son to make such a sensitive nature thoroughly unhappy. 
You have played the coquette and the flirt, and done all 
sorts of things with outlandish officers, till you have 
grieved the poor, innocent man to such an extent that he 
is going to fight a duel about you. Who knows where 
he now is, if he is still among the living at all !” 


THE FAREWELL. 


309 


Flora answered these and similar reproaches with all 
the bitterness of jealousy, for she could very clearly see 
the great interest the actress took in her lover, and at the 
same time she tried to exculpate herself. With ironical 
smiles the other one continued : 

“ It is true that extremes meet. How else would it be 
explained that this good young man, who is as innocent 
as if he had but yesterday fallen from Heaven, should 
have fallen in love with you. He is noble-hearted, 
enthusiastic, of finest sensibility, exceedingly clever, 
learned, and of a goodness of heart which is very rare 
among men. What you are I need not tell you, except 
that you are exactly the opposite. You ought to be 
ashamed ! * Fragments of his mind would have made a 

god of you,’ says Schiller.” 

“ If you mean to be so ill-behaved,” cried Flora, “ you 
had better go away. I did not ask you to come to me. 
You live opposite, but you are in love with him, and you 
have lured him away from me. Every decent man 
would have behaved differently with me than he has 
done. You are a hypocrite. You have always looked as 
if you were one of the Holy Innocents, but still waters 
are deep ! You live in the same house with him and you 
are always together, you two, and I see how you love 
him or you would not be so impudent.” 

“ If we are to engage in abuse, you will easily get the 
better of me — but I feel flattered, for those who are right 
never think of vilifying others. And you must know this 
gentleman, who is simple enough to let himself be led by 
the nose by you, very little, if you imagine he could ever 
have courted you and me at the same time. That I love 
him, I make no secret ; it is no disgrace to me that I have 
found out what a man he is, and how great is his value. I 
take it to be an honor for me that I love such a man as he 
is. But, unfortunately, he does not love me. Hence my 


310 


THE FAREWELL. 


relations to him are the same as those in which I stand to 
my favorite poets. They are dead long since, but I love 
them notwithstanding. But of course you cannot under- 
stand that, and I won’t take the trouble to try and explain 
it to you. I am not a hypocrite as you are — I do not hide 
my feelings under a pretty little decent mask. For I 
am an actress and actors are not hypocrites !” 

Fair Flora had much to say in reply, but at that 
moment a light hunting-wagon drove up before the 
house opposite, and Ephraim himself, accompanied by 
the officer and another gentleman, a civilian, got out. 

The actress left Flora without saying another word, 
and returned home. But Flora remained where she was, 
regretting that she had felt useless anxiety. Neverthe- 
less she kept watching Ephraim’s windows with great 
anxiety. The actress, more observant than her rival, had 
immediately been struck by the pallor on Ephraim’s 
face, and went straight to him to inquire what she could 
do for him. 

He told her without hesitation, but with a melancholy 
smile on his face, that he had fought a duel and seri- 
ously wounded his adversary. The girl, though delight- 
ed at his escape, was on the other hand terrified by the un- 
natural fire in his eyes, his paleness, and something fever- 
ish and very unusual in his whole being, which she had 
never seen before. Besides, she was deeply shocked by 
the tragic news itself, and the danger which the 
Austrian officer had evidently been threatening. Shud- 
dering, and with folded hands, she sank upon a chair 
near the door, and listened, as if in a dream, to the con- 
versation between Ephraim’s companions, while he him- 
self went to report the occurrence at once to the Univer- 
sity authorities, and to surrender to the police. 

“ I never saw a man more calm and collected in my 
life,” said the officer. “ I have nothing to say against 


THE FAREWELL. 


311 


Count Uhazy, he was as brave as a man can be, but I s^w 
his eyelids quiver when he looked into the mouth of the 
pistol, and his hand was not quite as steady as it is when 
he fires at a target. But this slender Jew, who told me 
he had never even held a pistol in his hand, stood there 
— I can hardly tell you how ! He looked as if the matter 
did not concern him in the least, as if he were there 
merely to give another man the pleasure to fire at him. 
A bright smile hovered on his face — something heavenly 
I should say, if it were not ridiculous to call it so !” 

“ I even thought he had the first time missed on pur- 
pose,” remarked the civilian, “and it was only when the 
count cursed, that something moved in him, and then I 
saw he took aim.” 

“ Very likely, very likely !” said the officer. “ He is a 
very curious sort of a man, and I have a real respect for 
him, although generally I cannot avow any special liking 
for Abraham’s children.” The actress raised her head. 

“ He is not a Jew !” she said. 

“ Not a Jew ? Why, then, did he take the Austrian’s 
‘ Jew-boy ’ as a personal insult !” 

“ His parents are Christains and so is he ; he has told 
me so again and again.” 

“Very likely, but it is the blood. The baptismal 
water does not change the blood. That is a difficult 
question, Doctor, is it not ? I have always been much 
interested in the question of hereditary qualities. What 
do you think of it ?” And thereupon the two men 
plunged into a lively discussion on that subject, while the 
actress sat by thinking, and coming to the conclusion 
that this event would certainly rob her of her friend. 

When Ephraim returned and told of the many inves- 
tigations and inquiries that awaited him, she began 
seriously to fear the result of this over-excitement on his 
delicate, nervous system, and refined sensibilities. He 


312 


THE FAREWELL. 


declared his intention to leave town the same day and to 
return to his parents ; and his companions left him after 
having promised to keep him well-informed of his 
adversary’s condition. Only the actress remained with 
him, and with womanly tenderness, suppressing her own 
deep emotion, busied herself with all the little domestic 
arrangements that were necessary to make his leaving 
the same day possible. 

Evening was approaching, and the carriage was at the 
door that was to take him to the station, when suddenly 
Flora rushed"into his room. 

She came with tearful eyes straight up to him, and 
besought him to forgive her. She had watched all day 
long at her window, and felt her conscience calling on 
her louder and louder to go and ask pardon. She had 
heard that a duel had been fought, and was perfectly 
amazed that her pale, timid lover, whom she had never 
thought capable of harming any one, should of a sudden 
turn out a hero ! It filled her with unbounded respect 
that he should have so nearly killed that handsome, bold 
hussar who was a count besides ! When she finally saw 
in his brilliantly-lighted rooms how the preparations for 
his journey were nearly completed, she could resist no 
longer and ran across. 

“ It is my fault that this horrible affair has come to 
pass ! Woe is me, poor and unfortunate child ! Oh, I am 
such a light, frivolous girl ! Oh, Ephraim, I have always 
loved you so dearly ! I love you still most dearly — I do 
not care in the least for that Austrian officer — must I be 
punished now and so severely ? Shall we really never see 
you again ? Oh ! poor me ! Oh ! forgive me and remain 
here. I will never, never give you cause for displeasure 
again !” 

Thus, accusing herself and supplicating forgiveness, 
the beautiful girl tried everything to win back her 


IN THE HAVEN. 


313 


aggrieved lover. But alas! Her power was gone ! Her 
love had lost its charm ! Another power had gotten hold 
of him, and there was an end to her dominion over him ! 

He saw the lovely eyes, whose blue splendor had once 
intoxicated him, now shed tears without the slightest 
emotion ; he no longer felt the electric power of the 
golden hair, and the soft, blooming skin. He looked 
back upon his life in the Neckar valley as upon a dream ; 
deep sadness seized him, and when he had taken a quiet, 
friendly farewell of both the girls, he told himself that 
one great and important period of his life had gone by, 
and he was standing at the portal of another. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

IN THE HAVEN. 

Ephraim returned, a weary Wanderer, to his parents’ 
home. His face was pale, his blood ran fiercely through 
his veins, and his dark eyes had a sickly sheen, as he 
embraced father and mother after the long separation. 
The sight filled their hearts, which were already heavy 
with grief on account of the disappearance of their first- 
born, with new care and anxiety. He told his father, in 
lonely hours' of communion, all the events of his life in 
Heidelberg, concealing nothing ; and when the wise old 
gentleman looked at him with grief and sorrow in his 
furrowed face, he said to him : “To love and to be wise 
both, is not granted even to the gods !” On the second 
day after his return he refused to rise from his couch. 
He had no strength left ; complete prostration paralyzed 
his limbs, and his eyes shone with a light which did not 


314 


IN THE HAYEN. 


seem to draw its food from earthly sources. But a 
touching submission could be read in all his features, 
and when the physician, summoned by his anxious 
parents, looked with deep concern at his patient, Ephraim 
smiled at him, and told him there was but one physician 
who perhaps could really help him, and his name was 
Death. He felt that the unfortunate night after that 
terrible excitement, with its cold wind and heavy dew, 
had done the harm, giving his delicate constitution a 
blow from which there was no recovery. Thus the 
parents had each their own great grief, which, with touch- 
ing unselfishness, each tried to conceal from the other. 
The mother, more interested in her handsome, first-born 
son, Alfonse, whose mysterious disappearance had only 
added to the prestige which he had always enjoyed, 
spoke but rarely of him, while the father tried to reward 
her by keeping from her knowledge all the frequent and 
distressing symptoms in the other brother’s case. The 
poor father saw in his son’s condition now the fulfilment 
of his early auguries. For already in the child he had 
noticed that the mind was too active for the body, claim- 
ing and obtaining from the latter strength which was 
intended for the development of the body. In this con- 
viction, he had tried to limit the boy’s hours of study, 
and even more recently yet, he had admonished him, in 
fair Heidelberg, to devote more time to Nature and less 
to his books. 

At the same time it was to the unfortunate father a 
strange, half-painful, half-delightful experience, to see 
how with every step which the disease took in its devel- 
opment, and the patient showed more weakness, 
Ephraim’s mind became clearer, purer and happier. 

With the solemn feeling of witnessing the creation of 
new feelings, as it were, the father saw a divine gentle- 
ness and contentedness speak in the pale features of the 


IN THE HAVEN. 


315 


sick man, as if the psyche, near its deliverance, was look- 
ing with joy to the Beyond. This cheerfulness never 
left him any more since the day when the welcome news 
reached him that his wounded adversary was out of dan- 
ger and would shortly return to his garrison. 

Another letter which reached the Steelyards’ house 
about the same time, brought, on the other hand, the 
sad news of the manner in which Alfonse had ended. For 
days Mrs. Clara could not be prevailed upon to leave her 
bed, and her suffering son was not allowed to hear any- 
thing of the terrible calamity. 

Ephraim’s mental activity, strangely enough, kept 
pace with the calmness of his soul and the weakness of 
his body, so that he daily spent hours in scientific work 
or in serious conversation. If Doctor Steelyard did not 
wish seriously to afflict his son he had to enter upon 
grave discussions with him, and to his surprise found 
himself become more and more the pupil, and his son 
the master, receiving from him suggestions and explana- 
tions which led him to profound meditation. Thus they 
had one day been discussing questions of deepest mean- 
ing and greatest importance for mankind, when towards 
sunset the weakened young man sank back exhausted, 
resting his angelic head on the pillow. It so happened 
that the last golden rays of the setting sun fell upon his 
haggard but illumined features, and as they one by one 
withdrew from his face, and left it in pale shade, the 
father thought he saw the light literally take the life out 
of his countenance, till, seizing his parents’ hands with a 
gentle pressure, he once more smiled upon them, and 
then passed away with a last slight sigh. 

When the news of Ephraim’s death reached the friendly 
circles of Heidelberg, the eyes of the actress and of fair 
Flora shed hot, burning tears. But while the former 
preserved for life a painful memory of her idealistic 


316 


IN THE HAVEN. 


friend, Flora found comfort very quickly. It was but a 
few weeks later that she had already met with a student 
who reminded her so forcibly of the young man from 
Berlin that she thought it no robbery to devote to him 
the same love she had felt for Ephraim. He was a 
young Russian nobleman, who wielded the rapier with 
consummate skill, a tall, dark-haired youth, rather weary 
of the world and very profuse in his expenditures, who, 
however, knew how to appreciate fair Flora’s charms, 
first at great sleigh-parties and afterwards under bowers 
of roses. But this love also lacked constancy. The Rus- 
sian went to Berlin, and Flora began to look out for a 
more solid and permanent friend. Her magnificent hair 
and her radiant eyes are an ornament of every concert 
and every ball given for benevolent or other purposes, 
and no public entertainment is complete where Miss 
Flora does not appear. But the family begin to fear 
that this may be her fate ; but all more serious candidates 
for her favor begin to show a lamentably good memory 
of romantic Ephraim and the lavish Russian, and to 
think that her splendid golden hair and her far-famed 
blue eyes are too brilliant for domestic happiness. 

The Baroness Blank never recovered from the blow she 
received at Punkinton in the minister’s house. She 
would have welcomed death rather than undergo that 
humiliation. She who had before been full of passion 
and apparently endowed with unconquerable elasticity, 
became helpless in mind and body from the hour when 
her own child had turned from her. She became an old 
woman in a few weeks, her hair turned gray, and 
although she still possessed the secret of most elegant 
costumes, her former inimitable grace of motion was lost 
forever. The cruel egotist, to whom fate and her own 
guilt had chained her, and who in his narrow soul and 


IN THE HAVEN. 


317 


poor head never dreamt of anything but his own well- 
being, soon saw in the poor, broken-down woman an un- 
bearable burden, and got rid of her without formality. 
Thus it was only the pity felt for her by distant relatives 
which saved her from actual starvation. A remote kins- 
man, who in his youth had loved her a few weeks, offered 
her an asylum on his estate in the country, and there it 
fell to the lot of her who had been worshiped by the 
great of the earth, to have to endure the whims of a 
young lady as whose “ companion ” she was tolerated 
in the house ! Silent and yet restless, unknown to the 
world and not caring for the world, she creeps through 
the richly-furnished rooms, and regularly goes to church 
carrying the ether flacon, the aromatic spirits, or the 
chloral crystals of her nervous and haughty cousin ; and 
like a shadow of her own self she spends the last years of 
her earthly existence. 

Edward and Alma reached Naples safely, and found 
their prince greatly pleased with Edward’s plans and 
drawings, and full of new projects, so that the architect 
foresaw at once ample employment for his talent. The 
two are happy, for they are made for each other, one in 
love, and, moreover, both independent of such things as 
are most apt to interfere with our happiness here below. 
The house in which they live, and the furniture, would, it 
is true, hardly content Sylvia, unless it be in a picture or 
judged from a romantic standpoint. The draperies at 
the windows are bright-colored creepers, grape vines and 
climbing roses, the carpets are the work of the peasants 
of the neighborhood, and the guests who walk over them 
are accustomed to do without the ceremonial of cold and 
foggy countries. But they are all people who only come 
because it gives them pleasure to come. When Edward, in 
the splender of an Italian morning, sees the little angel 
on Alma’s knees, the enchanting boy that looks so strik- 


318 


IN THE HAVEN. 


ingly like him, then he often fancies that Rafael’s inspira- 
tion may come to him as he also paints the Madonna and 
the infant. 

Sylvia is happy, in her way. She has married an 
elderly gentleman high up in the official hierarchy of the 
government, and hopes to be “ Her Excellency ” before 
she dies. Her salons are famous in Berlin, her society 
is the best, her dinners are known in every capital of 
Europe, and her great entertainments are honored by 
Royalty. She manages her fortune herself, and the 
bonds she buys are almost sure to rise soon. Children 
she has not. At times she casts a glance at her husband 
and asks herself how poets can write in such glowing 
terms of love. Her husband is sometimes in bad 
humor, and has a tendency to rheumatism and to choice 
wines ; he drinks Ragatz water and studies the weather 
predictions. Sylvia does not always agree with him, 
but enjoys the satisfaction of being right in the end. 
On the whole she is happy. She understands the world 
and the world understands her. 

Happy are also Count Victor and Hyacinth his beloved 
wife. When the handsome, proud couple appeared for 
the first time after their wedding at their ancestral castle, 
to be present at the inauguration of the monument of 
Amadeus, the spectators could well wish that the departed 
might not be able to see earthly things. The count is 
still in the army ; he keeps the best horses that can be 
gotten, and regularly, at the annual meeting of the 
coaching club, he carries off the first prize. 

Prince Lignac, on the other hand, is not happy. He 
often wonders why he is so melancholy, but cannot find 
the reason, and therefore is unable to mend matters. He 
made an exploration voyage to the North Pole, during 
which he was for six weeks driven about betweeen ice 
fields in a boat which was too small to allow him ever to 


IN THE HAVEN. 


319 


stretch himself out at full length. When friends asked 
him if the suffering was not terrible, he would answer : 
“Yes, the boat was rather short, but what does that weary 
when compared with the fearful monotony of life in 
Paris ?” 

He maintains, when discussing the question with 
Count Victor, that he has too much money, because “ that 
ruins men’s tempers,” he says. “There must be a limit 
to all things, and a fortune which corresponds with the 
wishes of the owner, is alone satisfactory. But as many 
millions as I got through my marriage with poor Chessa 
are a burden. I have not only the cares of managing so 
much money, but I must read every day the quotations 
on ‘ Change, and am constantly trying to find out some 
new way of enjoying my money.” 

“ I should think that was easy enough. Give the 
money to benevolent institutions.” 

“ Oh, yes,” replied the prince, “ only — I do not care. 
But I begin to discover that great wealth has a corrup- 
tive power. It hardens the heart and has something of 
pitch about it, so that it grows daily harder to part with 
it.” 

The count does not think that his wealth is really the 
cause of the prince’s melancholy. He said to his wife 
after his last visit : “ Lignac wants to get married again 
— but he lacks the courage.” 

Hyacinth shakes her head, turns her still undimmed 
violet eyes to the cradle, in which her second little son 
is sleeping, and soon forgets the prince and the whole 
world. 

The Turkish Interpreter is reported to have been seen 
in London. The Secretary of the Turkish Legation at 
least told Prince Lignac that he had accidentally met 
him at one of the Queen’s Drawing Rooms, in the retinue 
of the Sultan of Zanzibar, where he appeared in the na- 


320 


IN THE HAVEN. 


tional costume, and with that rock of offence, the gold 
and coral necklace around his neck. The prince had 
some idea of hunting up the Arab, but soon after heard 
that he had returned to Zanzibar. 

In the house of Doctor Steelyard there was great grief 
and deep mourning for some time. The parents could 
never entirely get over the loss of their two eldest sons. 
They try their best now in the education of the younger 
children to avoid everything that might be injurious to 
them as it had been to the others. Mrs. Clara cannot 
convince herself, however, that Ambition can be perni- 
cious ; she still hopes that the world will discover the 
great merit of her husband’s works, and that her sons 
will fill high places. The poor old doctor, whose soul 
has been purified in seven fires, as he himself says, still 
pursues the search after truth, and employs, as efficient 
means, the last teachings of his son Ephraim. Often, 
when he has long been alone in his study, he fancies he 
is conversing with the child whose soul was too powerful 
for his body, and he rejoices in his faith in immortality. 
He embodies his thoughts in works, “content with few 
readers,” saying : “Time will show them to be true.” 


THE END. 


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